The Yellow Brolly Rebellion
by Rhi Marzano
Summary: Innocent bystander Ginny gets caught up in Draco's quest to break free of his parent's orchestrations. But are either of them prepared for the relationship that ensues?
1. part one

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part 1  
PG-13  
Rhi Marzano  
[A/N: PG-13 for now, but it could get dirty down the line sometime. You can blame the delay of this fic on any number of things- work, disinterest, fanfiction.net downtime, watching the entire third and fourth seasons of _due_ South... Thanks, as always, to Leelee, A.II, mad master KC- not to mention Cara, Mickey, Emma, and Ink. Warning- this story has potential to be scarily long. But enjoy!]

* * *

It was a fair restaurant- expensive, but not anywhere beyond their means. Nothing was, it seemed. The food was adequate, perhaps slightly better than their own chef's preparations, but certainly nothing to rave about. This only left Draco Malfoy with one question: 

Why had his parents taken him to dinner? 

Idly he toyed with his wineglass. They'd said nothing so far, save for small talk about the estates and the god-forsaken begonias. His mother and father sat across the table from him with expressions fixed on their face, making them look vaguely constipated. 

"And then Leyden had the nerve- the gall, even! to say that perhaps I shouldn't be using that particular growing potion on them! And then I said, 'Leyden, these are my flowers, and you can be replaced within the day!'" Narcissa huffed a bit. 

How much longer could she talk about those things? Draco sipped his wine and caught his father's gaze. "Could we cut the bullshit, here? What's the occasion?" 

They appeared startled, like they hadn't expected him to suspect anything. "Your birthday is next week," his mother said, darting a nervous glance at her husband. 

"And we've got the party planned as always," he said irritably. "So why the separate dinner?" 

"You're going to be six-and-twenty, boy," Lucius said. "It's high time you got married." 

He'd heard it before. Mildly, he said, "The hell it is. I'm in no rush." 

"You know you have to be married to inherit." 

He'd heard _that_ before, too. "I'm not concerned about that right now." 

"You ought to be," his father snapped. 

His mother fidgeted with her napkin. "Pansy Parkinson is really a suitable girl. We've talked to her parents and we can have the wedding arranged within a month." 

Anger flared in the pit of his stomach, but he refused to let it show. "I think I can arrange my own life, thank you kindly." He pushed himself to a standing position. "I don't need you to do it for me." 

"It's the way it's done, Draco," came his father's stony reply. 

"I'm not going to just submit to your whims," he tossed over his shoulder as he stormed out of the restaurant. 

"Draco!" his mother called desperately. 

"Let him go," said Lucius quietly. 

His control over his temper deteriorated with each step. He weaved through the tables, shoving a waiter and possibly maiming him. _Pansy_, for chrissakes. With that inane giggle that betrayed her even emptier brain. He'd spent enough time with her at Hogwarts- and had grown bored with her with after a few years. 

He couldn't imagined a _lifetime_ with her. 

Not that he was expecting love for his marriage. Malfoys didn't believe in love. Mal foi- bad faith, you bet. As far as they were concerned, it didn't exist if it couldn't somehow be achieved with money. Pride, respectability, passion- sure. With enough galleons, those could be obtained. But love? Love was some intangible nonsense for those without money, or without enough sense to be satisfied. No, he certainly entertained no hopes of love. 

But was actually liking the girl too much to ask? 

He burst out of the restaurant, feeling the rain stinging his cheeks within seconds. He should have known that this sort of stuff would happen soon. What was it about being the heir to several million galleons that made people want to manage your existence? They couldn't force him to marry her- or anyone else. 

_I'm in charge of my own destiny,_ he thought, even though he didn't believe in destiny. 

His clothes clung to his skin, damp and getting damper by the minute. 

And then he saw her. 

She stood on the street corner, carrying a yellow brolly. 

She was pale, with freckles dusting her nose and red hair glossy from the precipitation. 

Her family and his hated each other. For good reasons. His was rich, hers was poor. Slytherins and Gryffindors. In terms of 'suitability,' she ranked somewhere above a house elf. 

He crossed the road and headed toward her. "Hey," he called. 

Those huge brown eyes widened in alarm and she began to move away. 

"_Hey_," he repeated, increasing his speed. When he caught up to her, he snatched her umbrella. 

"Get your own," she flared, hand flying out to grasp the handle. 

He closed his hand over hers in a deadly grip, then brought the other one to her chin. Her cheeks had reddened considerably in her anger. 

"You're cute, Weasley," he said. 

"Go to hell," she suggested. 

He yanked her mouth to his, muscling his other arm around her, letting his palm rest in the small of her back. 

She was surprised enough to have her mouth open- which he immediately took advantage of. After a few quick strokes of his tongue- just to see how she tasted- he retreated, nibbling on her lower lip. But it wasn't enough. _Why wasn't it enough?_ He slid his tongue back in, tangling with her own. One of her arms rose slowly and tucked behind his neck. 

Heat. Pure heat. It radiated through him- dispelled the cold and damp of the night. They were close, bodies pressing together so fierce that he could almost feel the gooseflesh rise on her forearm. The only thing between them was that umbrella. 

_I have to stop,_ he told himself, but his hand betrayed him, inching upwards along her side. She was...warm. Passionate. Addictive, like a drug. _I have to stop, _he thought as lightning flashed. 

From some far reach of his brain- not his soul, mind you; didn't believe in them- he found the strength to push her away. He stumbled, breathing heavily as if she had deprived him of all oxygen. 

Her brown eyes fluttered open and she stared at him, utterly baffled. 

They stared at each other. He couldn't quite believe he'd done that, or that she responded, and damn, were those eyes brown. Like... well, not really like anything. It was a brown all of its own. It was as if the world had frozen for an instant. 

And it quickly began moving again as he recalled the flash of light. 

Lightning? 

He frowned, looking up at the sky. Rain was ridiculously commonplace in Britain, but electrical storms were rare. 

And then he noticed a crew of shabbily dressed gentlemen. 

With cameras. 

And the evening just got more interesting. 

* * *

Ginny apparated home after buying new quills. She was rather particular about them- spending hours testing their thickness, examining their texture, debating their quality. It was almost as if she had to fit them to herself like a wand. 

But considering her writing _was_ her magic, the idea wasn't so strange. 

It had taken her longer than usual. She was shaken- badly- by that bizarre occurrence on the streets. Four hours of poor Mr. Laurens' time. But how on earth was she supposed to think when her blood pulsed that intense in her veins? 

She slid her hand over the doorknob at the Burrow and slipped inside. She had her own place, but even after three years it still didn't feel like home. Sometimes she felt awkward about staying at her parent's home so much, but it kept her mother happy. 

"Little late, eh, Gin?" 

The voice came from the kitchen. She jolted briefly, but relaxed as she recognized its owner. 

"I got tied up. Then I had to beg my supplier to abandon his evening plans so that I could test out the materials." She set her purchases and her umbrella down on the kitchen table, muttered a quick "Lumos," and pressed her lips absently to her companion's cheek. "Here for your birthday?" 

Harry scratched his hair. "Is it that close to it?" 

"No. But given the infrequency of your visits, I figured you'd want to get it out of the way." 

"Didn't even cross my mind. Just got here a few minutes ago. I'm in between assignments and thought I'd see how the family was doing." 

Her family _was_ his family, for all intents and purposes. The Burrow was where he spent his holidays, her mum was the one who nagged him on the dangers of his job, and her brothers treated him as one of their own. 

"We're doing alright." She moved to the counter. "The joke shop is selling well. Ron and Hermione just got back visiting Bill. Percy's been promoted. Charlie- did you want some tea? I was just going to put a pot on." 

"Sure." 

"Charlie's just getting over third-degree burns, so all of his letters sound really antsy. He can't wait to get back to work." 

"And you?" 

She shot him an amused glance. "Nothing happens to me." She cleared the disturbing image of her and Malfoy in the rain from her mind. It wasn't relevant- he must have been drinking or something. No one needed to know, least of all Harry. "I write. Sometimes I get rejected and sometimes I get published. I survive." She poured the tea and handed him a cup. 

"Are you still..." He waved his hand, clearly uncomfortable. 

"Available?" 

"Yeah." 

_Available_ as in, _does our previous arrangement still stand_? So that he could fool around with her for a while, and then leave again. Go off to kill some Death Eater, or hunt down a dark wizard, or some other damn nonsense that he did. It would be another six or ten months before he would show up again. 

How long had they been playing this game? She'd gone along with it, because she'd been in love with him. But how many more times could she let her heart break as he walked out the door? 

"No," she replied finally. "I'm not." 

"Oh." 

He left it at that, thank god, and drank his tea. 

"I'm going up to bed," she said in a way that implied that he was not invited to join her. "Will I see you tomorrow morning?" 

"Will you make me breakfast?" 

"I suppose." 

"Then I suppose you'll see me." 

She shook her head, drained her tea, and headed up the stairs. 

* * *

"**Virginia _Elizabeth_ Weasley!**" 

Ginny rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Seven o'clock. In the bloody morning. 

She rolled over, threw a pillow over her ears, and pretended not to hear her mum. 

"**GINNY!**" 

After the pounding on the wall outside her room began, she groaned and got dressed. "I'm coming. _Jesus_." 

Scarcely after the door had been opened, Molly shoved a newspaper in Ginny's face. Her face was livid. "What **is** this?" 

"I don't know, I can't see it when you've got it jammed up my nose," came her muffled reply. 

Her mum pulled away slightly, snatching back the paper, and reading the headlines in a high-pitched, distraught voice. "'Torrid affair between writer and heir!'" 

"_What_?" Ginny exclaimed. "Let me see that!" 

"'Draco Malfoy, the next in line for the multimillions of the Malfoy family, was seen last night in a passionate embrace with a one Ginny Weasley, a freelance writer for the Prophet. A close friend indicates that they've been seeing each other for months, and that marriage could _very well be in their future?_'" Her voice went up hysterically. 

"That's absolute, total bullshit!" 

"_Ginny!_" 

"Well, it's is! I don't even like him. I don't even **know** him!" she said desperately. Her mother did not look convinced. "Come on, Mum. Who are you going to believe? Your daughter or some silly paper?" 

"I'd be inclined to believe you, if there wasn't a half page picture of your tongues entwined!" 

Her eyes widened. "There's a _picture_?" 

Molly turned the copy of the Prophet around, revealing a very large, very damning image. To be fair, it was only about three sevenths of the page- but it was still far too big. _You can almost see my pores_, she thought in horror. 

Ginny moaned and steadied herself against the doorframe. "There's a perfectly reasonable explanation-" 

"There had better be." 

"He tried to steal my umbrella, and then he kissed me. That's it." 

Molly let out a short laugh and headed down the stairs. "That has to be the lamest excuse I've ever heard." 

Ginny clutched the paper in shock. The one weird night she'd had in the past ten years, and someone caught it on film. God, did her life suck. She slumped on her bed and tossed the paper on her floor. "Oh, God," she moaned again. 

Harry materialized suddenly, throwing his invisibility cloak to the floor. "Dammit, Gin, when you said your were unavailable, you could have had the decency to tell me you were seeing one of my sworn enemies!" 

After her heart started beating again, she snapped, "I didn't tell you because **I'm not seeing him!**" 

"Not seeing, just snogging," he said sardonically. 

"You of all people should know that the Daily Prophet is hardly reliable." She glared at him through her bangs, which were falling unflatteringly in her eyes. She _had_ just awoken after all. A person was understandably unkempt at seven in the morning. "I haven't been seeing him. We're not getting married. End of story." 

"But you did snog him." 

"_No_." She rolled up to a sitting position, clearly exasperated. "_He_ kissed _me_. I was an unwilling participant." 

"I suppose your arms around his neck signal your protest." 

She jabbed a finger in his chest. "You. Are. Impossible." 

Harry folded his arms. 

"That's it. I'm getting out of here." She split out of the room, grabbing her purse, quills, and brolly on the way. 

"Go see your boyfriend," he called acidly. 

"Go to hell," she retorted, and apparated. 

* * *

Ginny paced around her flat, cursing and throwing those complimentary editions of the papers in the fire one by one. 

_Complimentary?_ Hah! Every single one of them made her out to be some sort of immoral, conniving tramp. She stormed about a bit more. 

The hell with storms, she was a squall. Or a hurricane. Yeah- that was more like it. Hurricane Virginia- except those damn meteorologists had to do thing alphabetically, and they'd only ever gotten to S. 

Hurricane Ginny didn't sound as ominous. 

Nevertheless, she was certainly going about like some threatening force of nature. 

There had been scads of reporters hanging outside her flat. At least fifty letters, begging for interviews. And then, seeing that blasted picture on the front page of nearly every wizarding paper- that, _that_ was the last straw. 

One article mentioned that Malfoy still spent most of his time at Malfoy Manor, and the future was settled. Surely he had enough money and influence to get everyone to **shut up.**

She apparated within five miles of his damn mansion. Probably really about three and a half miles, because she could see the Gothic monstrosity looming nearby. She begged a ride off an elderly man with a cart and a mule, because a), her apparating skills were shaky when she was this mad; b), she was too lazy to walk; and c), she felt bad about stealing a broom. Ethics were ethics, after all. 

She was dropped off the gate. She shut her eyes, trying not to be intimidated by the fencing and the probability of attack animals, and rang the bell. 

"Ginny Weasley," she said firmly. "Mr. Malfoy should be expecting me." 

* * *

Draco put his feet up on his desk and leaned his head back. His book had been mediocre, his accounts were caught up, and one could only storm the halls and look imposing for so long. So he reclined for a midmorning nap, knowing that tea and his paper would be next to him when he awoke. He let his eyes drift shut, trying not to dwell on his constant boredom. There was a price to pay for having everything.

He was contemplating ringing for someone to give him a massage when he heard his mother's thin, nasally voice.

"Draco, dear?"

"Yes?" He didn't even crack open an eye, just tipped back a bit more.

"Has your father been by this morning?"

"No. I've not seen hide nor hair of him, thank god."

"He rushed off somewhere last night and hasn't been home since." He could almost hear her wringing her hands. "I'm dreadfully worried."

"I'm certain he's sulking in an inn somewhere. There's nothing to fret about." Especially since it had happened dozens of times before.

"You're probably right," she said with a rather fake-sounding laugh, and the door faintly clicked as she excited.

He shifted a bit in his chair. The escape of sleep was not coming as easily as he would have liked. _I'll have to attend to his business today,_ he thought wearily. Lucius was no doubt pissed off due to that hellish dinner scene, and would punish him with the extra responsibilities for a few days.

_He'll be back by the party at least._ One must keep up with appearances, after all.

Nervous footsteps in the hallway preceded a rap at his door. "Sir?"

"Yes, Howard?" he bit back.

"There's a, er, young lady out here. The one from the papers?"

"I haven't _read_ the papers yet, Howard."

"Well, you're going to read them _now_," came a very angry, very female voice.

His eyes snapped open, and a pair of brown eyes glared back.

_It was her._

Ginny Weasley marched into his office and slammed the Prophet on his desk. Her tiny body was quivering with fury, and she looked as if she was going to deck him any second.

_At least this is interesting,_ a little voice in the back of his mind said.

"Good morning," he said, turning on the charm with ease. "Very nice of you to drop by."

"I'm not here for chitchat." She pushed the paper towards him. "Could you please just tell me you can make this go away?"

He stared at the picture, a small corner of his mouth creeping up. The Draco in the picture didn't look bored in the least. That Draco had passion. _Maybe..._

All his girlfriends lately had been carbon copies of each other. He could hardly remember their names- they were interchangeable, bland. Like fish sticks. You couldn't feel passion for _fish_.

Maybe he just needed a change. Something new, different.

"Malfoy!"

He looked up. "Hmm?"

"Can you fix this or not?" she demanded.

Ginny was about as different as he could get.

"I'm rather busy today," he said blithely, "and probably will be for most of the week. But I could be persuaded to see to the matter sooner."

She blinked and cleared her throat. "Are you- are you _flirting_ with me?"

He leaned forward and put on his best grin. "Dinner?"

"Only if I have your word that this will be cleaned up before the week is out," she said after a moment's hesitation.

"You've got it." He scribbled down an address on one of his cards, and handed it to her. "I'll meet you at seven?"

She looked over the card and frowned. Her face seemed more than a little perplexed. "Alright."

He watched her backside admiringly as she left. Yes, he thought with a satisfied sigh, this was just what he needed.

* * *

[Next episode- the dinner, a discussion between Ginny and Hermione, and Draco's birthday party. How far will Draco and Ginny's fling go? Where is Lucius, really? And what do Ginny's overprotective brothers have to say about this development? Rhi works off feedback- so the more you review, the faster she writes! (hint, hint) To get an email when the latest chapter is out, join my nflist at http://theburrow.net/nf.html] 


	2. part two

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part Two  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13  
[A/N: ::cough:: Yeah. My potty mouth eventually gets the better of me. A nice nod to my first HP fic ever (Entropy) in here- actually more a nod to the fabulous Midwest in general. I'm sorry no party scene this chapter- it just didn't seem to fit. AII, the SM, Skye... thanksa. And huuuge thanks to everyone who reviewed!]

* * *

Too frumpy. Too blah. Too... professional?

Ginny twisted in front of the mirror, checking her profile, her butt, her cleavage. She didn't want to look unattractive, and she certainly didn't want to look sexless. What she thought would make her look unapproachable (aloof, even) made her look like a goddamn spinster. Even her normal date attire appeared unsatisfactory.

She'd tried on nearly every item of her wardrobe, and in turn discarded each in a heap on her bed. Her closet was looking rather barren at this juncture. A flick of her wand scrunched the empty hangars to one side and brought the final item into view.

"_Accio_ dress," she said after a sigh, even though she knew it was wrong. She sucked in a breath to zip it up and stared at her reflection.

It was a black dress- almost indecently short, clinging like a second skin, and strapless. It also enhanced what little bust she had.

All in all, she concluded with a spin, she looked fan_tastic_.

"He deserves a little torture," she said aloud with a grin, and spun around on her way to the bathroom.

She used a small potion to flip the ends of her hair out, and began applying makeup. She was humming under her breath, slightly off key. 

"Ginny? Are you home?"

Ginny dropped her eyeliner and coughed. "In the bathroom, Hermione," she called back sheepishly, recovering the pencil.

Hermione's bewildered visage appeared in the doorway shortly after. "Do you have a date?"

"Mmhmm. At seven. What brings you by?"

"You've read the papers. What do you think I'm here about?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

"Touché." The noises of her cosmetic daubing became painfully loud while she figured out what to say. Did she really want to go through the entire tale again? Would she even believe her? She finally settled on, "Only about ten percent of it is true."

"But you are going out with him tonight." The _him_ was venomous.

"Did I say that? I did _not_ say that," she said irritably, nearly jabbing herself in the eye with her lash lengthener. "I could be going out with Harry."

"Not dressed like that, you aren't," Hermione scoffed. "You don't try to impress Harry anymore. No matter what you do, he still treats you like dirt."

"That makes me feel so much better."

The sad part was that it was true. That Harry treated her like crap, not that she felt better. But she didn't want it to be so plain to everyone else the state of their affairs.

Ugh, bad pun. She blinked and wiped away some extraneous black flecks.

"Well, he _does_."

Why could she not _drop_ it? "Fine, maybe I'm going with-" She drew a blank. "Uh, that guy down the block? The butcher?"

"Gordon," Hermione supplied, "and I highly doubt it since you have difficulty recalling his name."

"Good point." She finished up her lips and turned. "What do you think?"

"About what you're doing? About what he's doing? Or about how you look?"

"Take your pick."

"I think you're acting out because Harry just expects you to drop your life and be with him. I think Malfoy's rebelling against his family. And I think you're enough to be a hazard to those with cardiovascular disease."

"I'll take the last one, then, and be off." Ginny gave her a quick hug on her way out. "I'll come over tomorrow, tell you all about it?"

"That would be nice," the other acknowledged.

"Wish me luck?"

"Answer me something first."

Warily Ginny cocked her head. "Shoot."

Hermione took a deep breath and relaxed her posture. "Was it a good kiss?"

The memories flooded back- his tongue, her tongue, bodies molded together, inhaling his scent. Wet... hot... _passion_.

"Um," was all she managed.

"I'll wish you that luck, then," Hermione sighed. "You're going to need it."

Before Ginny blushed too deep, she apparated.

* * *

Seven o'clock. Draco sat at a table, eyes fixed on the entrance. With each tick of the clock, she became a second later. He hated waiting. Patience was a worthless virtue, one he'd never bothered to learn. Why wait if it can be done now? He found himself drumming his fingernails on the table and snatched his hand back.

_You'll go crazy if you watch the door._ So he observed the people around him. The couple at the next table was completely engrossed in each other. Like there were words being spoken- serious, important words about the fate of the universe or some similarly weighty topic. Except their lips weren't moving, but one could almost see the communication all the same.

Romantic idiots.

Seven-oh-two.

Maybe she would stand him up. A childish, immature stunt to be sure, but it wasn't as if their family feud was mature to begin with. Money, class, and dispositions differences certainly ranked on the infantile scale. It was stupid- but it was hard to break out of stupid habits.

7:03 p.m.- Greenwich Mean Time. Virginia Weasley walked in, and he finally understood the phrase "my heart stopped."

She sauntered over, doing some sort of swish with her hips. Her hair was down, curled out just slightly. Her eyes were framed by subtle hues and that brown was twinkling. All that would have been enough, but _Christ_, that _**dress**_.

That her legs were incredible should not have been a shock- but since when did freckled shoulders become sexy? He found himself tensing up with each step she took nearer.

Yes, his heart had definitely stopped. After all, how on earth could it pump blood throughout his body when all of it was concentrated in his pants?

"Evening, Malfoy," she said, and ran her hands down her backside as she sat down.

She couldn't dress like that and still mean to remain on a last-name basis. "You could call me Draco," he suggested, flashing a grin.

She didn't seem to be affected by his charm. "I could."

He tried engaging her in conversations about her writing, about politics, about anything he could think of. But his responses were strained. It was sapping his energy to keep himself hidden under the table- and doubly so to find and maintain a safe subject line. Something that _didn't_ remind him of sex. It was hard- pun goddamn definitely not intended.

She just sat there looking amused.

"Are you ready to order?" came a small, high voice.

She was, because apparently she wasn't having any problem concentrating. The waiter dutifully took her order and turned to him. "I'm guessing not the usual, sir?"

Nothing about tonight was normal. "I'll take some Corinthian Wabash."

"Fried or baked?"

"Fried."

Ginny looked surprised. "That's my brother Bill's favorite."

"Excellent choice, sir," the waiter said, and scurried off.

At the mention of her family, her face had softened considerably. Unconsciously he followed up on the thread to exploit the change. "Which one is Bill?"

"Oldest- a curse breaker for Gringotts in Egypt," she said. "He's kind of turned into a yuppie, though."

"Yuppie?"

"Young urban professional- like.... well, nevermind."

The opening she'd given was slipping away. "How has your family taken the articles?"

"You first," she replied instantly.

"My mother called it slander and threatened to sue the press."

"_My_ mother practically called me a slut and a liar. My brothers have yet to descend upon me with their overbearing presence, but Harry sure gave be a dose of it already." A short bitter laugh accompanied this statement. 

It astounded him how she could let out such personal information. How her face could show such emotion. 

A bit of a scowl crossed his face; he didn't particularly care for the way she'd mentioned Potter's name. "So, what are you to him?"

"Nothing," she said sharply, quickly. Too quickly. "A friend." After that amendment, she looked utterly exasperated and repeated, "Nothing."

That tune sounded familiar. "Casual sex?" he surmised.

Her irritation said it all. "I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."

"_I_ can't believe you're foolish enough to put up with it- or what an ass he is."

"I think you're just saying that because you hate him."

"And what, you don't think he's an ass?"

It fell silent as she appeared to be carefully choosing her words.

"Maybe I do, sometimes. But he's practically family."

And now it was awkward. You could cut the tension with a poorly sharpened knife, and he felt out of his element and it was _terrible_. Desperately he looked around. There must be someone he could _pay_ to fix things. He didn't know what to _do_.

Subject change, subject change. Flattery?

"Have I mentioned you look stunning?"

It was unexpected. She looked down and blushed.

He dropped his voice down to a silky tone. "May I ask if you're wearing anything underneath?"

"You may if you want to get punched in the face," she replied sweetly.

Then she laughed, and he laughed, and it was okay.

Their dialogue was that of debate and light bickering. It felt so good to have someone to argue with- not just to yell at. "You're wrong," she'd said, and how long had it been since he'd heard that? It wasn't so much anger that fueled her response- it was passion. Passion for her views on anything- from her brother's reports on cauldron thickness to pre-Hogwarts curriculum.

Not just "Yes, Draco," or "This would be best for you, Draco."

Or "That's just the way it is, Draco."

Or "It's the way it's always been."

No real reason. No defense. When it came right down to it, Malfoys were terrified of change.

"_Malfoy!_"

His head snapped up to meet the glare of two brown eyes. "Hmm?"

"The food's here."

What on earth...

She leaned across the table (giving him a very nice view) and placed his fork and knife in his respective hands. When he just stared back at her, she heaved a giant sigh. 

"Slice off a piece." She demonstrated with her hands over his, guiding, which had to be difficult as the movements were all backwards.

"Open mouth." Obligingly he let her pull his chin down.

"Insert," she said a little breathily, sliding the fork inside his mouth. As she tapped his chin up, he felt the utensil ease out from his lips. "Chew, and swallow."

He obeyed, corners of his mouth curving up.

She withdrew back to her seat, removing her hands from his. "Now you try."

He sliced off another piece and shook his head, laughing under his breath.

Why did everything seem more interesting with her around?

* * *

After dinner, they went for a stroll around the area. The sky was darkening, the first few stars were out, and a sweet nighttime breeze ruffled through her hair.

No expectations. Sometime in the evening, their names ceased to be more than what they were. She stopped thinking of him as _a_ Malfoy and rather just as a person who bore the name. Bantering back and forth over a myriad of topics for so long, it was difficult to see the word **enemy** tattooed on his forehead.

"You've _got_ to be cold in that thing."

She was startled. Blocks of only the harmony of the cicadas, and suddenly he spoke. She grinned and swatted his arm. "Hush, you'll ruin the mood."

"It's just that has got to be the smallest garment I've ever seen."

"You don't appreciate my fashion choices?" Not really pouty, more mischievous. She hated sulky girls.

Draco ran his eyes suggestively down her frame. "Did _I_ say that?"

In step, in perfect rhythm, turning the corners. _What a great night_, she mused silently, admiring how in sync they were.

But every night had to end. "I should be heading home."

"You could invite me to your flat," he said in an offhand manner.

"I could," she allowed," but I don't think I will."

He let out a resigned sigh.

"You'll clear up the things with the media?"

"Being taken care of as we speak."

"Thank you." She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

He just stood there.

"The polite response is generally 'you're welcome,'" she said wryly.

"Ah. You're... welcome." He made it almost sound distasteful.

She laughed, murmured a goodnight, and apparated.

* * *

It became very clear that she was not alone the moment she set foot in her flat.

She could smell a fire burning, the lights were on, and her open closet door revealed an extra coat. She sniffed the sleeves- subtle sandalwood.

Percy.

"Anyone here?" she called out, although it was really only a formality. She knew very well that one or more of her brothers were lurking about.

She moved into the living room and saw two red-haired heads leaning back on the sofa and one more in the kitchen.

"Uh," grunted either Fred or George- it was too far away to tell.

"Uh," echoed the other.

"_Please_ don't tell me you went out in public in that outfit," Percy said, expression strained.

"Hello to you, too," she said lightly. "So who broke in?"

"Me," said one of the twins even as the other said, "Fred."

"I took the liberty of manufacturing a few groceries," Percy said, waving at the a colorful display of goods on her counters, "as your cupboards and cabinets were disgracefully empty. Would you like some dinner?"

"I've already eaten, thanks."

"She's already eaten," Fred mumbled, suspicion evident in his voice.

"She's already eaten," George agreed.

"Oh, stop it," she said irritably. "Yes, I know what's in the papers. No, it's not that serious. Yes, I was just out with Draco."

"'Draco'?" Fred repeated.

"That's really rather familiar of you, Ginny," said the eldest present disapprovingly. "I can't say I endorse this relationship."

"It's nothing to be worried about."

"Ginny, he's a _Malfoy_," George said fiercely.

"Do you _not_ remember your first year at Hogwarts?" Fred demanded.

She planted her hands on her hips and glared. "Being blamed for his father's activities is like me being blamed for your waywardness."

"Dark arts is quite a bit more serious than mischief, Ginny," Percy said sternly.

The twins nodded violently.

"Look, let's just forget it. I'm not going to be seeing him again, there should be no reminders in the Daily Prophet. I'm going to go change into pajamas- can we all be civil by the time I'm back?"

"We'll work on it," George said, but his face did not promise much.

Once she had changed and was infinitely more comfortable, she walked back out into the living room. Her brothers still seemed cross. Faces set in flint, the whole lot of them.

"That's it," she announced, fed up. "Either you make nice or you leave. I don't need to deal with you."

"Fine," George and Fred snapped in unison, jumping up from the couch and heading for the door.

"_Boys_!" Percy exclaimed, scandalized. "I made _pie_."

"_Accio_ pie," George growled over his shoulder, catching the whizzing pastry.

"Oh, _no_, you don't. I worked very hard on that! _Accio_ pie!"

And so it went, back and forth, several times, until Ginny stepped in between the two and yelled, "**Enough**!"

Sure enough, the pie stopped-

As it hit her in the face.

Blueberry filling in her mouth, in her eyes, up her nose. The tin slowly slid to the ground.

Fred looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Oh, dear," Percy said, fumbling across the room. He mumbled a quick scouring charm, cleaning up her face and her carpet. "I'm terribly sorry, Ginny."

"I'm sorry about your pie," she said- bearing remarkably well under the circumstances, she thought. "I'm sure it was fantastic."

"I've got another one on the counter," he said, looking perhaps like he might cry, "although I know you don't like pumpkin half as well as blueberry."

Ginny patted him on the shoulder. "At the moment I feel much more amenable to pumpkin."

"Dammit, I love pumpkin pie," Fred muttered to George. "Can we stay?"

George shook his head, but Fred's eyes implored.

"_Please_..."

George sighed. "Fine, fine. 'Let them eat pie.'"

"Actually, I think it's 'Let them eat cake,' George," she interjected helpfully.

"Well, we haven't got cake, have we?" he snapped.

"Actually," Percy said, "I've got some carrot cake in the oven."

"So we can all be happy," Ginny said, although she wasn't really talking about the cake anymore. Her eyes were screaming _Behave yourselves_. "Alright?"

"Alright," George said grudgingly.

"Don't look at me," Fred said, placing his hands up in the air. "I just wanted some pie." And he scooted off into the kitchen.

"Ginny, I just want you to know what you're getting into," George said in a low, quiet tone.

"I did, and I'm not _into_ it anymore. It's done, over, finished."

"Things like this don't just wrap up like that," he said. "You watch yourself."

"I will, George," she said, sighing.

She knew they were just concerned. That they loved her and wanted her to be safe. But she was old enough to take care of herself. She didn't need to be babied, coddled. She could make her own decisions and live her own life.

Percy's voice rent through the air, pitched several octaves higher than usual. "Good God, Fred. _Utensils_! Get your hands out of there!"

"I was just-"

_Why can my life not be normal?_ she wondered, and focused her attentions on averting a total crisis.

* * *

His good mood had evaporated with his entrance into his house.

"Sir?"

His valet stood with his coat, not making a move towards the closet. _This is not the way it works,_ Draco thought. _You take my coat, go hang it up. There is not much to be confused about here._

"What?" he said, tired. Malfoy Manor just seemed so suffocating at the moment.

"It's your father. He hasn't been home yet, and I was-"

"He'll be back, don't worry," Draco said. "He always comes back."

"I just thought I'd let you know, sir," said the valet, and put away his jacket.

"It's been noted," he said, "it's just not notable."

"As you say, sir."

He barely registered the servant's exit. _I hate this house. I have got to get out of this house._

But he was tired, too tired to make the effort. So he climbed the stairs and collapsed on his bed, not even bothering to undress.

* * *

[Next episode: the party! (I promise!) The return of Lucius! Also, Harry attempts to apologize to Ginny, Draco fends off Pansy, and some of you wonder why Percy's so adept with baked goods. ReviewReviewReview! It's possible I could get a new part done in a week with the right encouragement ;) Want an email when the next part is out? Join my notify list http://theburrow.net/nf.html]


	3. part three

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part Three  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13 (barely!)  
[A/N: The one "wtf" scene was written for Sky. You'll know it when you see it. I apologize for being such a ReviewWhore, and promise never ever to beg for reviews again. Just generally ask that you do review. :) Um, also for the ShitMonkey, and for AII, and the Y!M girls for cracking me up.]

* * *

You don't want the Malfoy family as an enemy.

They had money, they had influence, they had _power_. By mid-Wednesday morning, Draco had every major wizarding paper in Britain quaking in their boots, fawning over his, and blithering promises about retractions. Never mind their precious stories, or their earnings. He didn't even have to pay them off. Just the Malfoy name and presence was enough.

It would be a lie to say he didn't enjoy the groveling. He found it amusing most of the time. Sometimes he pretended to be angrier than he actually was, just to see how much they'd discard their dignity.

But on the other hand...

"Draco!"

"Pansy," he acknowledged, turning slowly.

TeenWitch devoted endless columns to the art of flirting- batting eyelashes, charms for the skin and eyes, how to stand, where to put your hands. How to cock your head, how often to brush up against the other.

Pansy had devoured those articles, cramming all she could in that tiny brain of hers. She followed every step, and one would think she was really interested save for one thing- her eyes were cold. And it made him a little queasy that she wasn't attracted to him because he was good-looking (and he was _very_ good looking). She wanted him for his power and his money.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said, bright tone, bright smile, cold eyes.

He flicked his gaze to the ceiling. "Total surprise." Which of course, it wasn't. Probably his mother had told her mother his plans for the day, who promptly relayed the information to Pansy, and in this chain of convoluted gossip, Pansy had decided it was the perfect opportunity to get something she wanted.

Now, to determine what she wanted...

* * *

Ginny had a splendid dream about: winning the lottery; going on a date with a normal person; and getting a dog, a maid, and a maid to take care of her dog. It was honestly one of the best dreams she'd ever had- it felt real, and _happy_.

She awoke at about half past nine, threw her hair up in a half-hearted ponytail, and wandered out into her kitchen. After putting some water on for her morning tea, she fetched her paper from outside her door.

_I could write a book on that dream,_ she mused, flipping past a front page blissfully devoid of her name.

Tea and toast, strawberry jam. It was warm and normal, and maybe her life was warm and normal again, too. She bit into the toast and smiled, reading the weather predictions.

Light rapping came on her door. "Ginny?"

It was Harry, and her mouth was too full of toast to answer.

"Ginny, you home?"

_Nope,_ she thought, then was pleasantly surprised to see that it wasn't supposed to rain.

"_Alohamora_," Harry announced, and opened the door.

He was standing _right next_ to the open closet, where empty hangars were plainly in view, and he tossed his jacket on the floor. "_Jesus_, Ginny," was his opening comment. She could tell he was peeved that he'd found her in her kitchen, but whether it was because he was upset he'd been caught at breaking and entering or because she hadn't answered him was debatable.

Ginny sighed, drank some tea, and gave him a look. "Maybe I didn't want to talk to you. Did you ever figure that?"

"Maybe you could have been dying on the floor," he retorted. "Did you ever figure _that_?"

"You're such a loser," she said, even though it wasn't really an answer. She checked the wristwatch sitting on the counter. "And it's not even ten o'clock. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to _apologize_," he said, exasperated.

"You're not doing a very good job of it." She turned the page. _Damn, I'm good at this disinterest stuff today._ "You could have at least come at a better time."

"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry I blew up at you the other day. It was uncalled for."

"And?"

"And it's none of my business who you date."

"Thank you." Delicately sipped her tea. "Apology accepted."

He cleared his throat. "But, uh, you aren't dating Malfoy, right?"

"No."

"So then, you are... available?"

She spit out her tea, the liquid spraying all over the remnants of her toast. "Is that _all_ you think about?"

"Not _all_," he said, mildly offended.

"You just came over here for sex!"

"I can't say it wasn't a determining factor!"

She glared at him. "God, you are such an asshole."

"I don't know what's _wrong_ with you!" Harry shouted. "Look, you were _fine_ with it before!"

"I was _fine_ with it because I thought we were going to be something more! But instead it was the same thing over and over again. You'd come back, we'd have sex, and you'd leave again. No long-term commitment, just a bed buddy every few months."

"And what's _wrong_ with that?"

"It just gets old after awhile, Harry. And I'm not putting up with it anymore."

It was a standoff. He glared, she glared, neither moved.

"I'm leaving," he finally said.

"Good."

He left, and she finished her tea. Then she noticed his jacket remained on her floor, and contemplated burning it.

* * *

"I hear you're having a party next week."

"Yes," Draco answered shortly. It was not really a secret. His birthday party was a rather large occasion every year, especially in their circles. Of course the Parkinsons would be invited.

Pansy smiled seductively. Mouth curled up, teeth showing just a little. Eyes still blank. "I was wondering if you'd like a date."

He tried to imagine Pansy as his wife, in his bed. Tried to imagine her with the next Malfoy heir. Two or three children with those empty eyes and emptier brains. _If you go with her, it'll just encourage the maternal plotting. You'll never be able to get out of it_.

_Well_, he thought reasonably, _I've gone with her to things before. Yule Ball. Hogwarts functions. We haven't been through the parson's trap yet. An evening is just an evening_. He was doing a rather good job of resigning himself to such an evening.

So he was completely unprepared for what came out of his mouth.

"I've already got a date, thanks."

"Oh," she said, eyes finally flashing. Anger that perhaps she was losing her chance at his money.

He'd die before he let her at the Malfoy millions.

She stomped off, most unattractively (apparently gracefully exiting was never addressed in TeenWitch), and then it occurred to him:

Now he had to find a date.

* * *

At approximately noon, Ginny was struck by an unfortunate case of writer's block. It was actually induced by the fact that she was still pissed off at Harry, and that she couldn't concentrate long enough to get anything on parchment. So she thought about it and decided to go for a walk. Perhaps some exercise would do her some good.

She wound up outside the Ministry building where Percy now worked, which was only a few blocks from her flat. He'd been promoted recently to the head of this particular establishment, although what exactly he did had escaped her mind.

"Ms. Weasley," a guard said. "Nice to see you."

"Is my brother here?"

"Yes, ma'am," said a practically identical guard. "Third floor, fourth door on the left."

"Thank you," she said, then paused before entering. "Are you two related?"

"No, ma'am," they chorused.

She shook her head briefly in confusion, then headed in and up the stairs.

The halls were absolutely mobbed with personnel, and almost everyone was carrying a muffin in partially masticated states. A blond witch poked her head a doorway and said, "Excellent muffins, boss." Surrounding witches and wizards voiced their assent.

Ginny walked into Percy's office. "You often make baked goods at work, Perce?"

Percy blushed. "Ah, well..." He blushed a little more. "It breeds loyalty."

"I needed to get out of the apartment and thought I'd drop by. How's work going?"

"Quite nice, actually," he said. "We've been making much progress on the classification of the types of Erumpent horns. And just today-" His gaze moved to something behind her, and she turned to view their new companion.

It was a boy- well, a man really. About Percy's age. Only a little taller than her, 5'7" or so. And he too was holding a half-eaten muffin.

"You made my mother's muffins," said the man in delight. "Did you snitch the recipe from my kitchen?"

Percy dropped his head and blushed even more. _How red can he get?_ Ginny wondered.

"I might have done," he mumbled, cheeks flaming.

"You must be Ginny," said the man, flashing his dimples and holding out a hand.

Ginny took the hand firmly and shook. "And you are?"

"I'm Tim," he said.

"He's my assistant," Percy said quickly.

"Yup," Tim said. "I'm very efficient."

"Ah, in that case," Ginny said, "could you tell me if my brother will be coming to Sunday dinner at the Burrow?"

Tim shook his head. "I'm afraid he's otherwise engaged. What is it this weekend? Pumpkin pie?"

Percy coughed. "Pumpkin pie was last weekend."

"Right, _right_," Tim said blithely. "I believe my mum is teaching him how to make pineapple upside down cake this Sunday."

Ginny turned to Percy. "Are you going to tell Mum?"

"About not coming to Sunday dinner?" he said weakly.

"About you-know-what-I'm-talking-about," she said, jerking a thumb imperceptibly to Tim.

Tim probably noticed anyway.

"Not yet," he said. "And could you-"

"Keep quiet?" she surmised. "Yeah, yeah."

Percy relaxed his shoulders. "Thank you."

"I'll see you around." Ginny tossed a grin over her shoulder then grinned again at Tim. "Keep him out of trouble?"

Tim's dimples winked at her. "Always."

* * *

Ginny was writing up a storm in the living room. She had the perfect quill, the perfect paper, and the words were flowing out like honey. Short stories weren't exactly a good market in the papers, but she could definitely sell this to a literary magazine, or perhaps even just a popular publication. She was nearly done when she heard three dreadful noises.

Well, actually only one dreadful noise, but three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Go away," she yelled, writing furiously. 

"I need a favor."

She froze.

"_Malfoy_?" She dropped her pen and went to open the door.

God, he was hot.

His white-blond hair was falling in his eyes, eyes that were piercing her own, by the way, and he was wearing the most fabulously tight black turtleneck under his robes.

"I'm having a party next Monday," he said. "Or rather, my parents are throwing one for me."

"What for?" she asked, confused.

"Birthday," he said. "I'll be twenty-six."

"Congratulations," she said.

"Thanks," he said shortly. "For the sake of brevity, let me say that Pansy Parkinson has major aspirations to amend her last name with mine. I told her I had a date."

He looked expectantly at her.

"I'm guessing," she said slowly, "that's a roundabout way of asking me to go with you."

"Yes."

Ginny didn't have the heart to condemn _anyone_ to Pansy.

"I don't have anything to wear." Which was true. She'd already brought out the big guns yesterday.

"I'll send you something," he said. "Come to Malfoy Manor at eight?"

"Monday, at eight. Alright."

"Thank you," he said, and apparated.

* * *

Ginny walked along the Thames with Percy. "Oh, look," Percy said. "It's Tim."

Tim was carrying a pair of skates, swinging them in circles by the laces. He waved wildly, but lost grip of one of the skates. The blade came flying towards Ginny and pierced her skull. She collapsed into a bloody heap onto the ground.

"Oh my god!" cried Tim.

"This is awful!" Percy said, hugging Tim and crying. They went off to an abandoned building to seek solace in each other.

Draco happened by and stared at the bloodstains on the cobblestones. The way the blood was coming out of her hair was certainly interesting- unlike his life, which was boring. Fascinated, he watched the blood pool.

Maybe watching people die was what he needed.

"You killed her!" Harry accused, popping out of nowhere.

"I did not," Draco said, offended. He probably would have done it better if he had.

"I hate you!" Harry declared, and punched him.

They got into a spectacular wrestling match, rolling around on the ground and hitting each other. While getting warm, they also apparently got hot, and left to spontaneously have hot monkey sex.

Ron came to identify Ginny's body. "This is just so sad," he said to Hermione, holding her hand.

"Look at the sunset," Hermione said.

"It's so gorgeous," Ron said. "I love you."

* * *

Ginny sat up sharply in bed.

"What," she said, enunciating clearly, "the fuck was that?"

* * *

Draco hated his birthday.

He hated the dinner party, the meaningless gifts. The dancing.

Where _was_ she?

Friends from school kept on coming up to him, each showing off his devotion to the Dark Lord. Proud that they'd become men finally- men just like their fathers.

The Dark Arts flowed through his veins. Trained, taught to tap into it from an early age. He had no problems with wielding his gift.

He _did_ have a problem with putting himself in service to Voldemort.

He didn't like taking orders.

Thank god his father still wasn't here, or he'd be hearing both the "when will you get married" **and** the "when will you join the Death Eaters" lines.

She breezed in, looking like she was trying hard to ignore all the eyes on her. She was wearing the dress he had purchased- soft, light green. Short. Little frills. He knew he'd liked it when he'd bought it- but he liked it _so_ much more actually on her.

"Happy birthday," she said.

He took her hands. "Dance," he said simply.

She was hesitant, but let him lead her out into the dancing area. He pulled her close- not too close, but not close enough- and slid into the dance. "Are you always late?" he murmured into her ear.

"It's a disease," she said seriously. "I can't be on time for anything."

"You do realize that you are enemy number one on Pansy's list now."

Pansy's anger was almost palpable, even halfway across the room.

"I had imagined that was going to happen," she said.

He began to desperately wish that the mansion was devoid of people, as all he really wanted to do with her in his arms was to get that little green dress _off_. _This was a really stupid idea,_ he thought miserably, being so close and yet _not_ close at the same time.

"Maybe we should go in for dinner," Ginny suggested uneasily.

Maybe he wasn't the only one.

He escorted her to the seat next to his. He decided not to count the number of courses, as there were too many and his brain was not quite functioning properly.

They ate, and talked, and all of the guests stared at them.

"Sir," Howard said, tapping his shoulder. "I need to talk to you."

"Later," Draco said.

"Sir, it's about your father. It's urgent."

"I'll be right back," he said to Ginny.

"Alright," she said, looking nervous.

Draco went with Howard into his study, and closed the door.

"Voldemort?" Draco said in low tones.

"No, _no_," Howard said, violently shaking. "I wish to God that it was."

"If not Voldemort, then what?"

"Your father," his butler said, white-faced. "He's _dead_."

* * *

[AhAhAh! Weren't expecting that one, were you? Lucius is dead, but how? Will vultures in the dining hall descend upon Ginny? And why do people always sleep and eat in Rhi's fics? Some of these questions will be answered in the next episode. If you'd like to know when it comes out, please join my notify list at http://theburrow.net/nf.html] 


	4. part four

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part Four  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13 still, I think  
[A/N: Yay Martina Sorbara lyric in here! If you catch it, you rock. Big thanks to the Y!M gals for their chatter and support.]

* * *

"Dead?"

Draco could almost feel his blood freeze. His lips began to move of their own volition, words coming out that he wasn't thinking. Events flashed through his mind, one right after the other.

"When?" his voice said.

_"When will you join us?" Lucius asked, tracing his own mark languorously._

"Later," he said, sounding bored. "If I feel like it." Which he wouldn't, hell if he'd be Voldie's errand boy.

"A week ago," Howard said. "It must have been right after you quarreled in the restaurant. Your mother says he was upset."

_Narcissa stood nervously, wringing her hands. "He rushed off somewhere last night and hasn't been home since. I'm dreadfully worried."_

"How?"

How many times had his father taken off? Too many. Twenty? Thirty? He'd run the helm then, and the family industries and properties were doing just fine. He could handle it, that was for sure.

At least he was a competent heir.

"We're not sure, sir," said the butler.

_Should I tell them tonight or tomorrow?_ he thought. Taking the reigns at the party would be nice. Significant. Just turning six-and-twenty, and then becoming the head of the family.

He would take his father's place on several different boards. He'd have to meet with his estate managers. Generally they did a good job, but he had to watch them. Unwatched help grew lazy and lax. They wouldn't steal if he kept a steady eye on them.

And then there were his business managers. The first Malfoy who had gone into trade was almost disowned, but the money he had made earned him a place back in the fold; soon the family had an empire, a monopoly on dark arts objects and magical creatures.

As a Malfoy, the money and influence available was astonishing. But as the head of the Malfoy family, those things increased to a staggering high.

Six-and-twenty was a good age to inherit.

His father's voice ghosted in his mind. _"You know you have to be married to inherit." _

"Oh, _fuck_." 

* * *

Ginny shivered in her seat. 

Funny how when Draco had been next to her she'd been burning up and flushed, things that couldn't have been good for her fair complexion. But now that he'd left, and she was in this tiny dress, she was freezing. 

Well, that and the icy gaze of every ambitious mama and daughter in the room. 

None of them actually spoke to her. They all hissed under their breath and threw nasty looks at her. She could imagine the words. Slut, whore. Probably they recognized her from those ill-begotten articles; probably they knew she was a Weasley. Weasleys were notoriously poor, which was not something she minded so much, except these odious females were whispering the phrase "gold digger." 

Pansy Parkinson stomped across the room and plopped herself in a chair facing Ginny. "I don't know what you think you're doing." Pansy's voice was low and angry. There was also something wrong with her eyes, but Ginny couldn't place it. 

"Currently," Ginny said, fighting a shiver, "I am waiting my date to conclude his business with his butler." She said _my date_ just to piss Pansy off. 

It worked. Pansy's eyes were practically boiling. "He's just using you, you know. To upset his father. He doesn't really want you." 

"Maybe. Or maybe he doesn't give a shit about his father anymore." 

"Maybe not." A snarl from Pansy's well-bred lips. "But Parkinsons and Malfoys have been allies for _centuries_. And your families have hated each other for nearly as long." 

"It's a _date_," said Ginny warily. "We can date at our own discretion. It's not like he's asked me to marry him."

A smug grin flickered on her face. Her eyes were normal, now- like empty expanses of tundra. "And he won't, either."

_I want to punch her face in._ She seriously considered it for a second, then remembered she could hurt her hand- which would make writing unpleasant for a few days.

_I could use my left fist._ She rejected that idea as well. She couldn't hit as hard with her left hand, and really, a poorly thrown punch was not much fun at all.

Ginny settled for giving Pansy an enigmatic, _we'll just see about that_ smile and sipping her wine. Pansy stomped off, not quite so smug anymore.

Draco returned. His face was pale, his arms were pumping fiercely at his sides. His gait was fast and desperate, and he split through the crowd in no time.

"We need to get out of here," he said to her, low in her ear. "Now. I need to talk to you about something."

"Okay," she replied, because she really couldn't _wait_ to leave.

* * *

He took hold of her arm and led her through narrow corridors, a winding labyrinth below the main floor. Twist, turn, and for all she knew they could be in Cornwall. "Is this necessary?" she asked, panting a little.

"Yes," was his tight-lipped reply.

Finally he paused at the end of a hallway- a seemingly dead end- and placed his palm against the wall. "Ah, there," he said, poking a crack, and the wall opened up. He looked expectantly at her.

"Um," she said, almost intelligently.

He gave a mock bow. "After you."

The opening in the wall slammed shut the moment the two of them were in there. It was impossible to ascertain the details of the room; it was dark as pitch. It smelled faintly like rotten eggs.

"_Lumos,_" he said irritably with a flick of his wand.

Seeing her surroundings did nothing to ease her rolling stomach. "Mind telling me what this is all about?"

"My father's been killed."

Ginny watched his face for clues but found none. "I'm sorry?" she ventured.

He dismissed her condolences with his hand. "As you might know, I am the heir to the fortunes, estates, and affairs of the Malfoy family."

"So you're filthy rich. Or filthier. How is this of major importance?"

He started speaking, then stopped to take a deep breath, then started and stopped again. "I have to be married within the week, or I lose it all."

Her jaw dropped. "What kind of retarded condition is that?"

"A condition that's been in place for the last few hundred years in my family," he said grimly. "It's so that the Malfoy heirs will comply to their arranged marriages."

"Let me guess," she said. "Pansy."

He nodded.

"That's really awful," Ginny said with some degree of sincerity. "She's such a nasty little-"

Then it dawned on her- the remarkable similarity of this conversation to a previous one. To avoid Pansy's company, he'd taken her as a date. Now, to avoid marriage-

"You're out of your mind. You are out of your _**goddamned**_ mind."

"Ginny," he said slowly, seductively, "would you marry me?"

Her first thought was that she couldn't wait to rub it in Pansy's face, but reality kicked in quickly.

"No, no, a _thousand_ times no!" she yelled, arms waving wildly. "Are you insane? You have _got_ to be insane! For one, your entire family _hates_ me- not to mention my family hates _you_- not just little pissed-offness from a snub last week, _centuries_ of hate, nearly _fermented_ hate!"

"What has that got to do with us?" he asked, moving towards her.

She jabbed a finger in his chest. "_Everything_! I'd be miserable, surrounded by people who want me dead! Dating here and there, okay, my family can handle that because it's _not_ serious- and we _aren't_ serious, we're just messing-"

"_I'm_ serious," he interrupted.

"You are _not_," she flared, glaring. "There is something seriously deficient with your brain, which is why you asked me in the first place. Marriage is a forever thing, a love thing, a children thing. It is not a random-ask-some-girl thing.

"And _another_ thing," she said, with this kind of _damn, I'm on a roll,_ feeling, "what the hell were you thinking? Proposing to me in a dungeon? It's not like you don't have the money for a high-class proposal. Fireworks, flowers, prostrate-on-the-ground, dammit. If you're so obsessed about secrecy you could have found some secluded area of the garden. This is about as romantic as a pile of dung."

She could have continued ranting for a good ten minutes, but he shoved her against the wall, pinned her shoulders with his hands, and brought his mouth down on hers. _Oh, no you don't,_ she thought, and bit down on the invading tongue. He didn't recoil, just pressed on. She could taste his blood in her mouth, salty, overpowering. He wedged a thigh between hers and pressed his lower body firmly against her, and all she could think of was _I'm done for._

Her hands clutched tightly in his hair. Ten, fifteen minutes he spent just kissing her senseless. She felt abandoned when he separated his mouth from hers briefly and leaned by her ear.

"Malfoys don't believe in love," he said softly, stroking one long finger down the curves of her side.

He leaned closer, and intensified his caress. "Malfoys don't believe in romance."

As he ran that hand up and down, each spot that he traveled over _ached_ when he moved on. His mouth was touching her lobe, and finally, only as audible as a breath, he said, "But we do believe in passion."

"We've got passion in spades, Draco." She shifted her hips, but he readjusted them so that they were even closer than before. "Passion but good. But marriage is a commitment, a sacrament. There needs to be something serious as a base."

"Passion is all there is."

"No, it's not." She pushed herself away. "I'm going home. Lead me out."

He sighed, and began the trek out of the house.

* * *

Ginny dreamed of Malfoy Manor. Oversized, ancient, cold. She dreamed of the endless hallways and rooms- filled with furniture, servants, and house elves.

Ginny dreamed of Lucius Malfoy. She dreamed of his sharp features, blond hair, his smirk. She dreamed of his power, power that was visible in his eyes. She dreamed of his carcass, covered in maggots.

Ginny dreamed of her first year at Hogwarts. She dreamed of Tom Riddle and how the diary had consumed her. She dreamed of the Chamber of Secrets.

Ginny, oddly enough, did not dream of Harry.

Ginny _did_ dream of Draco. She dreamed of his kiss, of his eyes. She dreamed of him married to Pansy; Pansy's arms around his neck, her tongue in his ear, her body in his bed; she dreamed of Pansy bearing his children and running his house.

Ginny awoke, and vomited.

* * *

Draco told his mother at about midnight of his father's death. "I knew there was something wrong, just _knew_ it," she blithered, but that was really nothing notable, since she had "known" something awful had happened during his previous jaunts as well, and nothing had happened. Until now.

"I think we should bury him on Wednesday," she said after her sobs had subsided. "He always loved Wednesdays."

Draco privately thought that his mother was a wacko, that surely Lucius hadn't liked Wednesdays- who likes Wednesdays, anyways? No one in their right mind, that was for sure. But he didn't mention anything, just had Howard set up the funeral for Wednesday at half past ten.

Hesitant, Narcissa said, "Should I arrange the wedding for Saturday?"

"No," he said firmly. "I'll handle that."

His mother took that to mean he would marry Pansy sometime earlier; he let her believe that. It saved on explanation time.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy's death was reported in the papers on Tuesday. Services would be held at the Malfoy family graveyard on Wednesday at 10:30 a.m.; Malfoy was best known for his money, his numerous activities within the Ministry. Survived by his wife, his son, and many other relatives. It was a flattering obituary, but it was doubtful that any of the papers would have the guts to say something poor about that family right now.

Harry stirred his tea and flipped the paper over. The Cannons had lost again; this was not much a surprise, but he imagined Ron was still crushed. Ron had inordinate hope in that team.

It was quarter after nine; Harry put the kettle on for fresh tea. When the water was ready, he picked out a box of orange pekoe from the cupboard and let the leaves steep. He poured a mug full of the pekoe, added three spoonfuls of sugar, and set it on the edge of the counter.

At nine-thirty, Ginny walked sleepily into the kitchen, wearing a light blue nightgown and her hair up in a messy bun. She looked dazed, tired. She went to the counter, picked up the mug, and savored her first sip.

He could almost see the details clicking in her brain- ready-made tea, lights on, person sitting at the island in the kitchen.

She dropped her mug.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, gathering the pieces and mumbling a mending spell.

"I left my jacket." It was true- he'd found it sitting in a precarious position in front of her fire.

"What if I'd had company? Couldn't you _knock_ instead of barging into my flat like you own it?"

"You didn't have company," he said reasonably. "I checked with your landlady."

"Still, there's something called _common courtesy_." She folded her arms. "I'd rather not have a rehash of last week."

Cut to the chase. "I heard you attended Malfoy's party last night. As his date."

"What, do you have _spies_?" She set the reconstructed mug on the counter, lest she drop it again. "Why are you obsessed with my social life? Surely there are other girls who will sleep with you, Harry."

"I'm worried about you. Worried that you don't know what you're getting into. You can't know what Malfoy's up to."

"I know _precisely_ what he's up to. He wants me to marry him so that he can inherit his precious millions, then give him an heir, and probably he would ignore me for the rest of my life. But, you know, it doesn't sound like such a bad deal- _at least he knocks before entering_." She patted his cheek. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies. Oh, and get out of my apartment."

"Ginny," he said with a sigh.

"I'm serious," she said. "Get out."

"You could thank me for making you tea," he said, gathering up his jacket.

"I could, but I don't think I will, being as you broke into my kitchen to do so."

Harry sighed and left.

* * *

It appeared that some "wooing" was in order.

Draco thought the entire idea of courtship was ridiculous. But Ginny wanted it as a measure of his sincerity. Romance, in his mind, was rather counterproductive to that goal. If anything, it was about bullshitting the girl with the right words, the right gifts.

But they had passion. The first few months would be ardent companionship; she'd produce an heir; and then they would practice a courteous separation for the remainder of their lives. It sounded perfect to him.

So he went and bought her an arrangement of lilies and some damned purple things on Tuesday morning.

It was quarter to ten when he reached her flat with the bouquet. He had planned on a quick exchange of the flowers, a snog, and a reminder that he would rather like to marry her before Sunday, then depart for a meeting at the Ministry.

When he saw Potter coming out of the building, he realized things would not go as he had anticipated.

"What are you doing here?" Potter spat.

"None of your business. What, are you stalking her?"

"You stay away from her," said the dark haired man fiercely. "She's too good for you. You've got plenty of blond, busty Slytherin alumni to screw around with- _leave Ginny alone_."

"Ginny can make her own decisions." Draco brushed past him, headed up to Ginny's flat. He knocked clearly, three times.

"Swear to god, Harry, if you do not leave, I am going to scream," came her muffled voice.

"It's me."

The door swung open; her brown eyes looked relieved. "Hi."

He handed her the lilies and purple things, and her face lit up.

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful." She waved vaguely. "You can come in."

He followed her into her kitchen, where she put water in a vase and organized her flowers within.

They stared at each other for a minute or so, and then she cleared her throat. "So, about the... marriage thing."

"Yes?" he said, hoping he didn't sound too hopeful.

She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, then let out a string of very fast words. "I'll do it I suppose, but really I think it should be small, I don't want a big production. Just enough for it to be done."

"My father's being buried tomorrow," he said. "How about Thursday?"

"Alright," she said, then blinked. "Thursday it is then."

He kissed her then; this was apparently a "romantic" thing to do. Not that he minded- an excuse to get his tongue in her mouth was a good thing.

She stepped back, gripped the counter, and announced:

"I think I'm going to need a drink."

* * *

[A/N: Ooh ;) Next part- a funeral, a wedding, and the investigation of Lucius' murder. To get an email when the next part comes out, join my nf list- http://theburrow.net/nf.html ] 


	5. part five

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part Five?  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13ish  
[A/N: Wow! I think I'm on part 5, and with no intentions of wrapping up soon. This could go on for years! Or not. Any *really* dirty bits will pop up from now on at Vaguely Alive, and I'll notify you when they do. K? To the SM; to AII; to Lee, Christy, and Amalin, who, godwilling, aren't reading my embarrassing schmoop, but give me great support. The words in here are actually taken from the low mass, but a lot of the low mass is similar to the high mass. Also, there's a Dr. Seuss-esque line in here, because he's cool.]

* * *

"Sicut erat in principio et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum." Clear and impassive words, spoken by every Malfoy in the church.

_As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be- world without end._

Centuries ago, the switch from Catholicism to Anglican occurred. The Malfoys were not a particularly religious family, but tradition they all held dear. Tradition carried their wealth, their power. It was not something to be mocked.

The Malfoys hated change.

"The new way is nearly the same," said an emissary from the king.

But it wasn't, not really. Only decades later the new religion began incorporating English.

The Malfoys didn't care about _where_ they went to church, as, strictly speaking, they didn't. So they agreed to be whatever the King said they needed to be, because it made no difference in day to day living. Catholic, Anglican, Protestant. It didn't matter- they still stayed home on Sundays.

But when it came to funerals, tradition overruled the King's mandates. They would bid their farewells to the dead with a Latin mass, exactly the way it had been done for hundreds and hundreds of years. The family could care less about the message; the cadence and rhythm of the mass were staples in their ways. Why not let the language used for magic also mark their end- for would not their magic be the end of them all?

Time again and again the ruling powers tried to make them cease this custom. They tried to bribe them; the Malfoys just took the money and did as they pleased. They tried to punish them, but the Malfoys' power was greater than that of the crown. They tried to evict them, but their soldiers were too afraid of the family to enforce it. Eventually the Kings and Queens just gave up, and ignored them.

So for every funeral since, the Malfoys had a priest apparate from Rome to conduct a mass.

"-quia peccavi nimis cogitatione verbo, et opere: mea culpa, **mea** culpa, mea maxima culpa-"

_That I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed: through my fault, through **my** fault, through my most grievous fault._

Draco stared at the casket in front of the altar; he wasn't really listening. The words came from his mouth, unbidden. Every once in a while, he would realize what he was saying. And why his family had clung to it so hard.

The casket was closed- it always was during the mass. This was a good thing, he supposed; that he wouldn't have to stare at his father's closed eyes. So he wouldn't be tempted to open them, to see if forgiveness lay in them- if Malfoys believed in forgiveness. Which he was pretty sure they didn't.

Had it been his fault?

There was nothing natural about Lucius's death, and it was Draco's duty to find out why.

The priest lifted the host and coughed. He was still nervous, halfway through the mass. He coughed again and said nervously, "Hoc est enim corpus meum." 

_This is my body._

His father's body was not bruised in any matter. No bones were broken, not a hair was out of place. His body reeked of the killing curse- stank awfully, making him want to vomit. But as far as Draco could tell, it was _Lucius_ who had cast it.

He ran round and round it in his mind, but came up with the same conclusion every time.

_Why would his father kill himself?_

He had everything he had ever wanted. What cause would he have to end his own life?

He refused to believe it. Refused to say the word _suicide._ "He's been killed," he'd said at every question. It was a murder, dammit- Lucius couldn't have done this to himself.

Lucius couldn't have done this to _him_.

_"You know you have to be married to inherit." _

"I'm not concerned about that right now." 

"You ought to be."

Could he?

"Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et perpetua luceat eis."

_Grant them eternal rest, Lord, and illuminate them perpetually._

Even as the casket was lowered into the ground, Draco didn't cry.

_Malfoys_ didn't cry.

* * *

Nine-thirty, come rain or come shine. Rain, hail, sleet, snow, Ginny woke up at nine-thirty, like her internal clock was some sort of bizarre postal service. She could have slept in, she had desperately _wanted_ to sleep in, but no dice. She had to pee, despite her fervent desire to stay asleep.

Every moment she spent asleep was one more moment she didn't have to think about tomorrow.

She trudged into her bathroom, relieved herself, and then stared at her reflection.

"God, Ginny," she said to herself, "what the hell were you _thinking_?"

She'd had no intention of considering Draco's proposal initially. Her mind screamed "Hell, no!" then; a few hours later it was "absolutely not!"; then it was "no, no, _no_." Then _Harry_ had to show up and piss her off, and she never functioned right when her temper was in full swing. Using the possibility of marriage as a threat didn't bother her at that point, and then with the sudden appearance of Malfoy- bearing gifts, no less- the possibility of marriage, period, wasn't so foreign.

But it sounded very, very stupid now.

After her breakfast tea, she dressed, and left for a brisk walk to the Department of Something-or-Other where her brother worked.

"Ms. Weasley," acknowledged a guard. "Good to see you."

"Percy around?"

"No, ma'am," said the other guard.

"Good," she said in relief.

The guards exchanged a baffled look.

"You can leave a message with his personal assistant," said one.

"His name is Tim. He's very efficient," informed the other.

"Thank you," she said.

"No problem, ma'am," came their reply.

* * *

Tim heard a pair of feet, attacking each stair. Flight one, two- indeed, they were coming to see Percy. He calculated the mass of the approaching person; 56 or 57 kilograms.

_Ah,_ he thought, and said, "Hullo, Ginny," before she even stepped through the doorway. "Your brother is unfortunately detained at the moment. Would you like to wait, or leave a message?"

"Actually," she said, entering the office, "I need your help."

Tim's eyebrows furrowed. "With what?"

"What time do you have lunch?"

"11:09," he replied promptly, then repeated, "with _what_?"

Ginny drew in a long sigh. "Um. I sort of need a dress."

"A dress?"

Ginny mumbled something that sounded a lot like "I'm getting married tomorrow."

He grew exceedingly uncomfortable. "Ginny, just because I'm- well. You really shouldn't assume I know where to buy dresses. Even if I did, most transvestites like women anyway-"

"I just need someone to help me pick out one," she interrupted, looking vaguely ill. "I can't ask Hermione, because she'll tell Ron and he'll go ballistic. And I can't ask any friends from school because they'll tell Harry, who will tell Hermione or Ron, or maybe even the twins if he's out getting foxed with them, and in any of those situations, I'm fucked."

"Ah," he said.

She took a deep breath and gave him a tentative smile. "And you're efficient, right?"

"That I am," Tim said. He couldn't really say no to her- she _was_ Percy's sister, after all. "Lunch it is, then."

"_Thank_ you." She relaxed visibly. "Meet you at that corner café?"

"11:13, no later," he promised.

* * *

Buttons, buttons, _goddamned buttons_. "_Tim_," she wailed.

He opened the dressing room door. "No," he said, "I'm not even going to bother. That's hideous."

"But-"

"No buts," he said firmly, handing her another dress. "This will be better."

"There's no straps." Bewildered she gave it back to him.

"It'll show off your cute freckles on your shoulders," he said cheerfully, toss it back at her.

"I _hate_ my freckles," she said vehemently. She threw it at him.

"They're like a link between your hair and the dress," he continued, handing it to her again. "Red to red and white to white. It'll be a nice transition."

"You're not going to give up, are you?"

Tim considered this, then shook his head. "Probably not." He grinned and closed the door.

She shimmied it on over her hips and zipped it up easily. Of course it had to fit like a dream and make her look absolutely fabulous. She wanted to cry. Couldn't she even win an argument about clothing?

"How is it?" he asked through the door.

"Horrid," she said spitefully, sniffling.

Mildly, he replied, "I'll tell the clerk that you'll be buying it."

She tried not to freak out at the price tag. After tomorrow, she'd have more than enough money to cover the dent in her savings.

Ginny changed back into her normal clothes and folded the dress over her arm. After one last panicked look in the mirror, she went to pay for the item.

* * *

The time of death was an hour and twenty-seven minutes after Draco had left the restaurant.

If Lucius had been suicidal over their argument, it would not have taken him an hour and twenty-seven minutes to utter the killing curse. And he honestly wouldn't think his father would _bother_ with the killing curse- he would have used a knife, or a poison.

No evidence of either in the body.

_Mea culpa._

"Mister, ah, Malfoy?"

Draco's head snapped up. "Ah. Yes. Could I reserve the church for tomorrow at ten-thirty?"

The vicar nodded. "How many guests do you anticipate?"

"None. And we hope to keep it that way."

The vicar seemed to grasp this with little difficulty.

Draco figured he'd save their families the trouble of refusing to come by just not inviting them in the first place.

He was bucking tradition, could feel it clawing at his back, demanding a full-blown affair with two thousand people sitting in the pews, announcements in the paper. _I've had it up to here with tradition_, he thought.

"A very short ceremony," Draco said. "We want to be married. And that's it."

"Understood."

Draco jotted a note with the particulars on it and owled it to Ginny. Hopefully she would take care of anything else.

* * *

"Good lord," she said at nine-thirty. She skipped her tea to curl her hair; put on the dress and some makeup. Her kitchen was devoid of any visitors, two days in a row. Thank god.

She'd gotten a very formal owl from Draco the night before, giving her the time and the place. At ten-twenty, she apparated to the church.

Draco was already there, sitting in one of the front pews and staring at the wall. He was muttering something.

He was wearing a suit, a dark suit with dark dress robes hanging open over it. It made his hair look even whiter than usual, but his skin seemed a shade darker.

"Draco?" she said hesitantly.

He didn't seem to hear her.

She took a step closer and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh," he said. "Good morning. Are you ready?"

"I think so." She stared at his eyes- they were still far away. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," and if that wasn't the lamest excuse in the world.

"I'm fine," he said again, softer, even though she hadn't asked for the reiteration. Maybe it was to prove his point, or maybe he was just strange, but he cupped her jaw then and kissed her.

"You must be the happy couple," said a jolly voice.

The vicar was short, comically so. He was probably a foot shorter than her, and she wasn't that tall. He was also very round, with stubby legs. He reminded her of a turnip.

"We must be, yes," Draco said, throwing an annoyed look at him. Apparently he didn't enjoy being interrupted.

"Would you like to get started early?"

"That would be fine," Ginny agreed instantly.

All Ginny thought of during the rites was how she was very probably ruining her life, how she was going to piss off every member of her family, every member of _his_ family, and quite a few of her friends.

At some point, she said, "I do."

Her feet ached and she wanted to pull out her hair. Why did she _ever_ agree to do this? Saecula saeculorum, they were together forever and ever, world without end- and he didn't seem to be the type to divorce. 'Malfoys don't divorce,' she could just hear him say. This was such a terrible idea, what had she been _thinking_...

"Man and wife," she heard distantly, and Draco kissed her firmly, and then she stopped thinking.

* * *

Draco took her to a small estate on an isle off the coast of Scotland. The estate was the only thing _on_ the island, which simplified matters nicely.

"What's it called?" she asked in that way that she just wanted something to say.

Darthaegan, and a pretty estate it was. "It's only been in the family for four hundred years," he said, "so it's actually one of our younger properties."

It was the wrong thing to say. It seemed impossible, but she paled even more than she already was.

"Come, I'll give you a tour."

He led her though the main house, pointing out portraits and rooms. Ginny looked overwhelmed, like the carpets would swallow her up.

"Could we go out into the gardens?" she asked.

"Yes, of course." He found the request odd, but complied nonetheless.

The grounds were not as well kept as those of Malfoy Manor; but there was pleasing vegetation that surrounded a nice stone patio with benches, and a fountain. They sat down on a bench in silence.

"Does this strike you as a very, very bad idea?"

"Marriage?"

She nodded.

"Well, not _very_, very," he hedged.

"I mean," she said softly, "the feud thing, I've already explained how insane that makes this. But we don't really have anything in common. We barely know each other- and we've only recently stopped hating each other. At least I think you've stopped hating me." She glanced up at him sharply. "Oh, god, you haven't, have you? This is all an elaborate revenge plot on my-"

"Ginny," he said irritably, "shut up."

She closed her mouth quickly.

He laced his fingers through her hair and brought her eyes up level with his. "I do not hate you. This has nothing to do with your family, or mine. For the next two days, for all intents and purposes, we do not have families."

"I'd really-"

"You talk too much," he said, and silenced her the best way he knew how.

She seemed relieved for the conversation to be over, eagerly responding to his advances. Warm, sweet, hot- he spent nearly fifteen minutes just exploring her mouth. He bent her back on the bench, and she suddenly caught her breath and said:

"You know, you can't just make out with me every time you don't like what I'm saying."

"Thanks for the warning," he replied, eyebrows quirked. "I'll have to develop other methods."

* * *

Ginny shot up when he began unbuttoning her. "Wait, wait, _wait_!" 

"What _now_?" Draco asked, exasperated.

"What do you mean, what now? We're in the middle of your _garden_!" She folded her arms protectively. "Is it so much to ask for our first time to be in a _bed_?"

"It wouldn't have been so much to ask twenty minutes ago," he growled. He mimicked a high-pitched voice. "Could we kindly move this indoors?"

"It's hardly thirty meters- it's not going to kill you."

"It might," he muttered. He pressed a hard, urgent kiss to her lips.

She moaned and pushed him away. "_That_," she said, "is not going to accomplish our objective."

"It'll accomplish _mine_."

She glared at him and stomped to the nearest entrance, straightening her blouse along the way.

"Vir_ginia_."

He caught up with her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He accelerated her pace, and steered them into the nearest available bedroom.

"This room is _pink_," she said in horror.

He sighed again, and pushed her into the adjoining room (which was yellow.) Swiftly, he pressed her against the wall and resumed his business.

"Aren't you even going to close the door?" she said between gasps.

Draco gave her an incredulous look and kicked it shut. "Bitch, bitch, bitch."

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You know-"

"No," he said, waving his finger, "no more talking out of you."

Maybe it was because she was feeling charitable. Maybe it was because he was doing a nice job convincing her. Or maybe it was something different altogether. But whatever the reason, her heart or his hands, she said nothing intelligible for a good hour and a half.

* * *

[A/N: Um. Yeah. Next time- the honeymoon and beyond! Interesting dinners *grin* with both families. If you want an email when the next chapter is out, join my nflist- http://theburrow.net/nf.html ] 


	6. part six

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part 6  
PG-13  
Rhi Marzano  
[A/N: This insane part is dedicated foremost to Meghan, who is rather insane but appreciates my insanity all the more for it. Also to the regulars- Lee, Amalin, Christy; AII and the SM; and my sister. Sorry for the delay!]

* * *

_I am not going to be intimidated by a kitchen._

Ginny pawed through the cupboards, searching for tea, cups, and sugar, not necessarily in that order. The kitchen was _enormous_. Darthaegan was large, but not _that_ large. The kitchen, in her opinion, was a bit excessive.

How was anyone supposed to be able to find anything?

_Aha_! Climbing on top of the counter, she nabbed the tea from the top shelf.

"Lady Malfoy?"

It had been uttered several times, but she finally realized that someone was talking to her.

She glanced down, knees still next to the sink. "Yeah?"

"Could we do something for you?"

There were three or four anxious servants standing in the middle of the kitchen.

"You could show me where to find a teacup," she replied pleasantly. "And sugar. Oh, and probably a kettle."

One of the servants (she thought she was the housekeeper) hastily attempted to retrieve the tea from her. Ginny, however, clutched her spoils. "We can make that tea for you, my lady," the housekeeper said insistently.

"So can _I_," she retorted. "I've done it for most of my life."

"But for a woman of your station-"

"I _know_ how to make my own tea," she snapped. "I don't need you to do it for me."

Her hands were shaking and she felt oddly like bursting into tears.

The housekeeper looked the same way.

_This is her job,_ she reminded herself.

"I'm sorry," she said weakly, handing the woman the tea. "I'm just not very agreeable before my morning tea. But I'd still like to know where everything is, in case there was a random plague or something. Then I'd be without my morning tea and disagreeable to your corpses, and Draco would probably say that Malfoys don't disrespect the dead, and we'd all be in a fix, wouldn't we?"

The housekeeper smiled a little then. "The cups are in this cupboard here," she said, tapping one three doors down, then removing a cup, "the kettle is below the sink," which she also took out, "and the sugar is in the freezer."

"The freezer?"

"Keeps the insects away."

_Wouldn't you just use a spell?_ she started to say, but then realized that the reason these servants were probably servants was due to weak magical ability.

One of the other servants had put the water on, and soon Ginny had a nicely prepared cup of tea. She sipped it and conversed with the servants. Ethel (the housekeeper) and her family had worked for the Malfoys at Darthaegan for seven generations. The other servants were cousins of hers, and they did large tasks and a small brood of house elves helped them out.

_Conquered the kitchen,_ she thought with a smile and continued talking.

* * *

Draco woke up alone.

It shouldn't have been different than normal. He rarely slept with anyone. In previous relationships, he had left almost immediately after acts had been completed. He had no siblings, and neither cousins nor comrades had the guts to make him share a bed in childhood. Even then, he had been the heir- and the heir got what he wanted.

But it _was_ different.

His body felt an odd mixture of sore and sated. He vaguely remembered her head against his chest as they slipped into slumber; how even simple proximity could be pleasurable. Post-coital propinquity had its charms, he'd mumbled to her, to which she replied, "Can't you just say you like to cuddle?"

He wrinkled his nose.

_Cuddling_ was not something a Malfoy should like.

Or admit to liking, anyhow.

He found a set of clean clothes on a chair by the bed, ostensibly arranged by the valet. _Someone_ had brought their luggage into the yellow room, and it certainly hadn't been Ginny.

"Ah, my lord?"

Draco turned his head slightly, shrugging into his shirt. "Yes?" He found his servants' hesitation amusing most of the time.

"Were you planning on doing the traditional boat ride around the island?"

Inwardly he groaned. It wasn't an important tradition by any means; more like just a time to tell the bride what would be expected of her. The island would provide a relaxing backdrop, et cetera and so forth. Still, he would have to tell her _sooner_ or later.

"Yes," he replied, fastening the last button. "We'll be out shortly."

"I'll have it ready," the servant promised.

Draco gave him a long look.

Hastily the servant added, "My lord."

"Very well," he replied. "Have you seen my wife?"

"The kitchen, my lord."

What was she doing in the _kitchen_?

Sitting on the counter, drinking tea, and chatting with the housekeeper, apparently.

"Good morning, Virginia." His annoyance crept into his tone.

"'Morning, Draco," she replied, flashing him a smile. "Would you like some tea? Ethel just made a great pot."

He sighed. "Ginny, Malfoys do not make friends with the staff."

"I don't see why not." Cheerfully she set her cup down. "I think it breeds loyalty."

"I think it breeds familiarity," he said tightly, "which in turn, breeds contempt."

"I think you're just grouchy."

She smiled and he scowled and she smiled harder and then he thought his face would break from the disapproval he was channeling.

Through clenched teeth, he told her to meet him outside in ten minutes.

* * *

Draco dragged her to a dock, where a rowboat waiting in the water.

To be fair, it was a rather nice-looking rowboat if one could ignore the fact that it was Slytherin green with emblems carved on the side.

Ginny cleared her throat. "What is this?"

"It's a boat."

"I can _see_ that it's a boat," she said irritably, "but why?"

"Tradition. Get in."

She heaved a long-suffering sigh and complied. Draco followed suit.

"I'm not going to have to row, am I?" she asked, because she couldn't imagine him doing any sort of physical labor.

"It's called magic, Gin. Maybe you've heard of it?" He rolled his eyes and flicked his wand.

She wasn't sure whether to be pleased that he used that nickname or irritated that he was being sarcastic.

"Nice," she said finally, as the boat began to move.

"Thank you."

The spell made the boat make a weird noise. If she cocked her head a certain way, it almost sounded like quacking.

Draco began listing appropriate conduct for a Malfoy bride: what she was supposed to do, what she was responsible for. Mainly she just concentrated on that quacking noise and imagined super-ducks propelling the boat.

The image actually caused her to giggle.

A crease formed in his forehead. "What?"

"Nothing," she said immediately, coughing down the rest of her giggles.

He gave her a displeased look and continued. "No affairs until after the heir is born. I, out of respect for you, will abide by the same rule."

Ducks forgotten, Ginny sat up sharply.

"_What_?" 

"Of course fidelity is not expected," he explained.

"Do the words _committed relationship_ mean nothing to you?"

"Not particularly." He shrugged. "Malfoys generally are not faithful."

That was about the time that she pushed him out of the boat.

"You are such an _ass_. Maybe this marriage is only about money and heirs to you, that's fine. Maybe Malfoys don't believe in fidelity, but _I_ didn't marry your _ancestors_, I married you. And I _demand_ fidelity. Don't tell me you wouldn't be pissed if I started dating Harry again on the side."

Draco bobbed up in down in the water, looking surprised. Whether it was her actions or her words that triggered this surprise was debatable.

"Alright," he said. "I suppose I can agree to that."

Ginny folded her arms and smiled.

He climbed back in the boat and leaned towards her. He took each of her arms and placed them on his shoulders, then kissed her fiercely.

It was probably a distraction tactic. He tended to do that a lot. She wasn't acting the way he wanted, he kissed her. She was leading down a path he didn't want to go, he kissed her. She was saying something he wasn't comfortable with, he kissed her. She _knew_ what he was doing, and it was most unconscionable of him. She was indignant... for a good three seconds.

After that, she didn't care anymore.

He lowered her to the boat, which was vaguely awkward but what he was doing with his hands more than made up for it. He was wet and dripping on her, but this didn't really matter. Even as his mouth traced a path of freckles down her arm, he worked on undressing her.

Well, it would go twice as fast if she reciprocated, so she reached up to unbutton his shirt.

Startled, his elbow jerked and hit the side of the boat. "Shit!" He recoiled.

Recoiled rather too much, really, because the boat flipped over.

Imagine the Arctic. Barenaked. Water vapor from your breath freezing seconds after exhalation. Flesh burning from the sheer extremity of temperature.

The water was about that cold.

Draco did manage to keep the boat from rowing itself away, and got them back in it. But now _both_ of them were cold and shivering and not in much mood for anything.

"Could we skip the rest of the ride and the lecture, and just go back for a hot bath?" Her teeth were chattering.

"Good plan," he said, and the boat reversed directions and sped up quite a bit.

* * *

"Lady Malfoy?" Ethel called, knocking on the door. "You have company."

_Company_? Ginny frowned. She and Draco had been blissfully alone for the past few days. Who would interrupt?

They'd moved upstairs to the master bedroom the night before, as it had a bathroom attached to it. Ginny wandered into the bathroom and checked to see if she was presentable (and she was.)

She wondered where Draco was, but he was probably downstairs with the company already.

Slowly she descended the stairs, carefully placing each foot on each successive step. A blond figure sat in the parlor. A _female_ blond figure, who looked distinctly not happy.

"Hullo," Ginny said cautiously.

If looks could kill, Narcissa would be charged with first-degree murder.

Of course she'd get off, though. She had enough money.

"So," Narcissa said. "You're the girl my son has married."

"That's me," she agreed. "What do I call you? Mother? Narcissa?"

"_You_ call me 'my lady,'" was her frozen reply.

So much for a warm welcome into the family. "Would you like some tea?" she offered.

"Of course," Narcissa sniffed. "I hardly would have come at tea time if I didn't want tea."

"Right." Ginny quietly asked Ethel to prepare tea and some biscuits. "We'll just go wait in the sitting room, then."

Her mother-in-law arranged herself on a sofa, posture ramrod straight and that sneer permanently locked on her face. "At least we won't have to worry about the heir," was her opening remark. "You Weasleys are abominably fertile."

What was she supposed to say to that?

"A Malfoy with _freckles_." Narcissa shuddered. "How positively unregal. I have no idea what he sees in you."

Ginny fixed a bright, fake smile on her face.

"But of course you're so _poor_," she sniffed. "Must be some comfort to know that your child will be rich beyond all means."

"Actually, we're not nearly as poor as we used to be," Ginny said mildly. "My siblings have done fairly well for themselves. The twins have their own burgeoning business, Percy is a head of department for the ministry, and the rest of them are also self-sufficient. You might actually call us middle class."

Thankfully Ethel came in with the tea service at that point.

The housekeeper poured the tea for both of them, adding milk and sugar in their preferred amounts. "Good day, my ladies." She exited.

Ginny wished she could go with her.

She took a biscuit and nibbled on the edge while Narcissa glared at her some more.

Narcissa took a dramatic sip of her tea and said, "I only hope you don't bring down his social status."

"I doubt it." She polished off the biscuit.

"It's just that you're so _common_."

"Your son has plenty of money. His social status is not in jeopardy." Ginny ate another biscuit, and reached for another.

"I really wouldn't eat any more of those if I were you. It's not like your figure is spectacular to begin with."

Ginny put the cookie back and smiled thinly. "Of course, my lady."

This was going to be one painful afternoon.

* * *

Circadian undercurrents swum in his ears. Ginny was tucked against him and he was nearing sleep.

"I hate your mother," she mumbled into his chest.

"Alright," he replied.

"Alright? You're not even going to ask why?"

"You're entitled to your opinion."

"She's such a _bitch_."

He thought she might be quiet then.

He was wrong.

"You're not even _defending_ her," she said, outraged. "Don't you love her?"

"Malfoys don't believe in love," he reminded her.

"That's retarded," she said, but then she did shut up and go to sleep. 

* * *

Sunday dinner was a staple in Ginny's life. Twins, Ron and Hermione, and usually Percy showed up for the meal. Harry also came- when he was around, that was.

"I don't want to go," Draco grumbled.

"I drank tea with your mother," she said pointedly, and he had no choice but to acquiesce.

They arrived at the Burrow at two o'clock. Dinner was always served at three for some reason.

Ginny did not attempt to explain her mother's logic.

Fred was the first to spot them. "Not serious, huh?"

"Lovely to see you too." Briefly she stuck out her tongue.

"Which one are you?" Draco asked. He didn't sound particularly friendly, but at least he wasn't using that _God, I'm so bored_ tone.

"George," Fred snapped.

"Fred," she corrected.

"I think I know who I am." He sounded insulted.

"I think you're a pathological liar." She kicked his feet. "George doesn't wear these boots."

Fred was silent, then sighed. He'd been caught fair and square. "Damn, but you're good."

"Mum in the kitchen?"

"Yeah. Percy, too. Making dessert." He scoffed a little at the dessert part.

Ginny tugged Draco's sleeve and led him into the kitchen. Her mother was humming, and Percy's face was buried in a cookbook.

"Afternoon," she said cheerfully.

"Hmm-de-hmm-hmm- 'lo, dear. I was just fixing supper." Molly swung around to grab a bowl.

She froze.

"Ginny," she said dangerously, "there is a Malfoy in my kitchen."

She summoned a weak smile. "Is there?"

"Actually, there's two," Draco interjected.

Molly's eyes narrowed.

"We, um." She took a deep breath and went for it. "gotmarriedlastThursday."

"Oh, my god," said her mother, and promptly passed out.

"She's a bit theatrical," Percy said by way of explanation, stepping over Molly to put his cake in the oven. He raised an eyebrow. "Thought you said it wasn't serious."

"It _wasn't_." She paused. "Why aren't you freaking out?"

"I freaked out on Thursday. Tim told me."

"Who's Tim?" Draco murmured.

"His assistant. He's very efficient," she whispered back.

"I'm more or less resigned to the idea now," Percy said. "I think you're both insane, but it's not like you're hurting anyone."

Ginny heard the door, and from the chatter it sounded like the terrific trio.

"Hey hey," Ron's voice said, presumably to Fred. "Everyone here?"

"Everyone and more," came Fred's growl.

Hermione and Ron wandered in the kitchen first, followed by Harry.

"What's Malfoy doing here?" Ron said sharply.

"_Jesus_, Gin," Harry said with a pained look, "tell me you didn't really marry him."

"**Marry**?" Ron echoed, horrified.

Draco's possessive arm around her shoulder was answer enough.

Ron's fists went up, but Hermione snatched them before they went flying. "Ron," she said, "we need to talk. Now."

Ron nodded slowly and followed her off to wherever they went when they had these "discussions." Generally they weren't discussions at all, it was just Hermione telling him that whatever he was doing was inappropriate.

Percy made an "ahem" noise. "Perhaps you'd like to try some pie... Draco?"

"I like pie," Draco allowed.

The moment Draco had turned, Harry grabbed her arm and hauled her off into the foyer.

"What the hell are you thinking?" he hissed, shoving her up against the wall. "That family is _bad news_, Ginny. Illegal stuff up the _ass_. This isn't a game."

"It's my life," she hissed back. "I've made my bed and I'm having no problems sleeping in it. _You_ are no longer part of it."

"Is this revenge, then?"

"_My life does not revolve around you_. Jesus, Harry, you treated me like crap for _years_. No matter his motives, he at least had the balls to _marry me_."

"Gin, I _couldn't_ marry you, not with the kinds of things I have to do- do you understand?"

Primly, she said, "If you wanted it to work, you would have found a way."

"I _love_ you," he said desperately, and kissed her.

How many seconds passed, she wasn't sure, but the smooth voice rent through the air:

"Potter, if you would get your hands off my wife."

Harry thrust his arms to his side and threw a glare back at Draco. "I can't stay here. Not with _him_ here. Tell your mother I'll drop by some other time." He stalked out.

Ginny sighed.

Draco crossed the room and lifted her chin up so that her eyes made contact with his. "Do you love him?"

"I thought you didn't believe in love," she replied, snappish.

He was quick to counter. "I think the issue here is whether you believe in it, not me."

It was silent.

She swallowed, then spoke. "No. I'm not in love with him."

One heartbeat. Two. Three, four.

His lips curled up. "Good."

* * *

[A/N: Next time- a major discovery by Draco, and someone tries to kill Ginny. (for real. no ice skates.) if you'd like to get an email when the next chapter is out, join my nf list- http://theburrow.net/nf.html ] 


	7. part seven

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part 7  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13  
[A/N: thank you for your patience, I'm terribly overwhelmed. I was supposed to thank Jess profusely last chapter for her help in overcoming the writer's block. But forgot. So thank you, dear. thanksa to skye, amers, christy... sm, hoyden. and you people who reviewed- I loooove you! I would have all of your children, except most of you are female so that wouldn't work. So maybe I'll take a page from Percy's (cook)book and bake you a pie instead.]

* * *

_Good?_

What did that _mean_?

Ginny stared at Draco, who just stared back and smiled that _sexy_ we-should-go-to-somewhere-private smile, to which she gave the panicked we're-in-my-parents'-house look. _Private_, coaxed his smile. _Parents_, protested her eyes. He closed in on her and dipped his head; by then she knew she was done for. _Remember to breathe, remember to breathe..._

"Afternoon, Gin." 

She jerked away to see her father coming down the stairs. He waved absently and started towards the kitchen; halfway there, he stopped dead in his tracks and pointed a finger at Draco.

"What's he doing here?"

"We got married." She braced herself for impact. 

"You did _what_?"

"We got married," Draco repeated in such a way that the statement should not be questioned. He crossed his arms, looking rather stubborn, and somehow communicating the phrase, "and that's final."

Arthur questioned anyway. One very good reason the families fought was that the Weasleys rarely did something just because someone else wanted them to. "_Married_?" Arthur pulled her a few feet away. " To a _Malfoy_? Ginny, in my department alone I've handled _forty-seven_ charges of Dark object trade, and _forty-four_ involved that family. Of course, none of them were ever brought to trial because everyone's _frightened_ of them- because they're _bullies_. They've got power and wealth and they push everyone else around because of it."

"Dad!" she exclaimed. "He's standing _not two feet from you_. Have a care."

"It's nothing he hasn't heard before," her father snapped.

Ginny threw a helpless look to Draco, who shrugged. "He's right."

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Arthur demanded.

"Nothing's ever been proven," Draco replied calmly- defiant, but under control.

Arthur glared at him. "If anything happens to my daughter, the Ministry will be all over you."

"Of course nothing will happen to her." Draco took Ginny's arm and drew her towards him. "She's a Malfoy now."

Arthur glared at him some more.

"Dinner," Percy called from the kitchen.

"I hope you haven't lost your appetite," Ginny said weakly.

* * *

"Let's not discuss the obvious, shall we?" Percy said brightly, setting the food out on the table. "Let's have a nice family dinner."

So they ate, and talked about Percy's projects, Charlie's letters, the improvements on Ron and Hermione's house, and the sales at the joke shop. It was nearly normal.

The unofficial truce was over after the last plate was cleared. Ginny excused herself to go to the bathroom before anything got started.

Ron, unfortunately, followed.

"I don't want you putting yourself in danger," he declared.

Ginny thought about yelling at him for barging in the bathroom without knocking, but thought better of it. "I'm not in danger," she said, wiping her hands on the towel by the sink.

Ron wasn't listening. "I mean, it's great that you want to help us out-"

"-help you out how?"

"- but I think marriage is going a little far."

Ginny blinked. "What?"

"You know," he said. "Going undercover for the Ministry to get dirt on the Malfoys."

She blinked again.

"That's why Percy knew first," he said. "Because it has to do with his department."

"Um, Ron," she coughed, "I'm not doing anything for the Ministry."

"Ohh," he said knowingly, nodding. "Writing an exposé for the papers, then."

"Ron, it has nothing to do with that at all. We just... got married. To do the sort of things married people do."

It was often interesting to see how far Ron's eyebrows could separate from his eyes; at this particular time it was nearly four inches. His muscle control (or lack of it, really) must be amazing for such a leap. But even though it was curious, it signified a great storm approaching.

"**Oh my god**!" His face pale, then flared bright red. "You're having sex with Malfoy!"

"I'm _not_ talking about my sex life with you."

"You shouldn't even have a sex life!" he shouted. "You're young, and naïve!"

"_I've been sleeping with your best friend for **years**!_ How is this any different?"

Ron nearly fell over. "**What**?"

"I need to use the bathroom," Hermione said through the door.

"I'm done." Ginny opened the door and stormed out.

"_I'm not_!" Ron said, but before he could take a step, Hermione poked him in the chest.

"You leave her alone," she said.

"But-"

"_Ron_," she warned.

Ginny found Draco quickly. "We're leaving."

"Thank god," he replied.

* * *

The bed shifted to one side with a little creak, and she felt... cold. She rolled over to get closer to him, but couldn't manage to find him. How big could a bed be? Blearily, she opened her eyes to see Draco dressing.

"_Accio_," he mumbled under his breath, and caught a blanket from the closet. He placed the extra coverlet over her and touched her face. "It's six o'clock- go back to bed."

She needed little encouragement. She was asleep before he had left the room.

She was just beginning to stir when a knock came at the bedroom door. "Lady Malfoy?" rang Ethel's voice.

"What?" It was muffled, but audible.

"Lord Malfoy told me to bring you some tea at nine-thirty."

Her ears perked up. "By all means."

Ethel entered and gave her a teacup- with the tea fixed just as she liked it- and a note. "This is where Lord Malfoy will be having lunch," the housekeeper said. "He'll be in a meeting most of the morning, but if you'd like to join him about two-thirty..."

"Thank you, Ethel." She savored her tea.

* * *

Bergen asked to speak with him after the meeting. Draco couldn't imagine what questions he'd have; it wasn't as if his policies were a mystery. He would do exactly as his father had done, and his father before him, because _that's what they did_. Perhaps his marriage to a Weasley had alarmed Bergen; but the meeting had been conducted exactly as Lucius would have done, and it wasn't as if Bergen hadn't dealt with him before.

"Lord Malfoy," he said quietly, "I have to talk to you about your father."

He froze. Had Bergen caught the stench, too? Of course he would have... all of his father's advisors were well versed in the Dark Arts. They knew how to recognize the Killing Curse.

"I know, Bergen," he said, clipped tones.

Bergen gave him a sidelong look. "I don't know what you think you know. _ I_ found the body, Draco. I swear you could see the words Avada Kedavra on his wand."

"I _know_. But my father had- suicide, it just wasn't..." He became increasingly inarticulate.

"It wasn't suicide, Draco," Bergen said. "He cast the Killing Curse, alright, but someone cast it right back at him."

A huge weight lifted from his chest. He knew it, he _knew_ it-

-was too good to be true. "But where is the other body?"

"Up and hopping," his father's advisor replied grimly. "He wasn't killed."

_Not killed_? Not killed... how... but the only person who'd ever survived the curse was-

Harry Potter.

He closed his eyes and swore. "It was a hit by the Ministry, wasn't it?"

"He is their favorite errand-boy."

And considering how much Potter hated him, compounded with the fact that he'd just married Potter's ex, he was next.

* * *

Ginny managed to finish up her short story Monday morning, and because the house elves were creeping her out, she decided to go to London a little earlier than the lunch engagement. She went to the offices of the Literary Witch to peddle it. She wasn't concerned with the sale; it was good, they'd been very interested in any of her new scribblings when she'd sold her last story. She went to her editor's receptionist and set the scroll down on the counter.

"Could you see that Mr. Curtis gets this?" she said politely.

The receptionist glanced up. Her nametag read _Sadie_, and she was chewing bubblegum in a rather bovine manner. "Ginny Weasley?"

"It's, uh, Ginny Malfoy now," she said.

Sadie's eyes widened. "Really? That's so romantic- it's just like Romeo and Juliet!"

She'd taken Muggle Studies: Muggle Literature like every other Hogwarts grad. "It is _nothing_ like Romeo and Juliet," Ginny said irritably. "Everyone _died_ in Romeo and Juliet."

"Oh yeah," Sadie said, and took the scroll. "Mr. Curtis should owl you in about three days with either your payment or some suggestions."

Ginny thanked her and left to meet her husband for lunch. The restaurant was only a few blocks' walk from the LW headquarters; she didn't mind the exercise. She mulled over her life, treading lightly on the sidewalk.

Maybe there's some substance to this marriage, she thought. Cuddling and morning tea and lunch. It was nice to go to bed with someone, and wake up with them, day after day. Comforting and stable, despite the fact that _they_ were the only ones happy with their union.

She paused and sniffed the air. _Petrol_? In this part of town? It was faint at first, but it grew stronger in small bursts. It was almost as if someone were sprinkling gasoline about and- She looked at her light jumper, which was... splotchy. Dark splotchy. _What the-_

Someone _was_ pouring petrol on her, she realized- about the time she heard "_Incendio_."

* * *

Draco stared into his wine, which was a disturbing shade of red.

"I ordered a white wine," he said, flagging down the nearest waiter. Whether or not the waiter actually _was_ his was irrelevant; his order was not correct, and it needed to be fixed as soon as possible.

"Er, sorry, Mister...?" the waiter trailed off.

"_Lord_ Malfoy?" he supplied, eyes narrowing. "Just replace it."

The wineglass sat in front of him, with the liquid within looking somehow thick and dark- like blood.

_Ginny?_

"My lord?" said the waiter, returning with a glass of white.

"Hold the table," Draco said. "I'll be back."

* * *

Her robes were on fire.

Not just tiny sparks, but huge, searing flames. She fumbled for her wand, managing to locate it in a pocket that hadn't been scorched yet, and tried performing the anti-flame charm.

It took a couple tries, as she kept on inserting "**fucking hot**" in the middle of it and choking on smoke. But the fire was put out, and her robes only made her look _slightly_ like a hobo.

She caught her reflection in a store window- which revealed the hobo quotient to be at least twelve units higher.

"Okay," she said to herself, "let's go find new robes."

Standing there, pondering just _where_ she was going to locate a set of robes, she saw a familiar figure heading down the street.

Looking familiarly angry. "What the _hell_ just happened?"

"Er, hi," she said brightly. "Fancy meeting you here."

Draco folded his arms and glared. "What's wrong with your robes?"

"Someone just tried to set me on fire. No big deal," she said in a casual manner such that it really wasn't casual at all.

"_What_?"

There was no way she was going to let him overreact. "I remembered the anti-flame charm, so it hardly signifies."

He turned his nose up, then wrinkled it. "Is that _gasoline_?"

"Er, yeah. It got on my clothing. But _honestly_," she said hurriedly, "I'm sure it was a mistake."

"It's not like they dropped a _match_." He flailed his wand around, punctuating his words with sharp jabs in the air. "They poured _petrol_ on you and said _Incendio_!"

A flame spurted from his wand then, landing on a small rodent. She tried to ignore the roasting rat and concentrated on producing a calm, placating tone. "I _doubt_ it was intentional. Why would anyone want to kill me?"

He cursed and grabbed her by the shoulders. His nose was touching her nose, and his eyes were boring into her own. "You're a Malfoy now- and Malfoys protect Malfoys. But you've got to know- _we have enemies._ You've _got_ to be careful."

"I was _just_ walking to the restaurant!"

"From now on, you apparate or you take a guard. Understand?"

"We've been married less than a _week_," she said, exasperated. "Who could I have pissed off in that short of a time?"

He yanked his hands from her shoulders and dug them in his pockets, walking ahead of her. "I don't know, try your _ex_."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he bit back. "Just that he's the Ministry's forbidden curse whore, and I wouldn't put it past him."

"If Harry were trying to kill me, I don't think he'd set me on _fire_."

"Fine, protect him," he snapped.

"I'm _not_ protecting him!" she protested. "I'm just-"

"Covering his ass?"

"_No_!" She ran a hand through her hair. "Jesus, Draco, you're acting like a six-year-old. Honestly, what has Harry ever done to you?"

His jaw clicked backwards. "Trust me, Gin," he said bitterly, "you don't want to know."

"Which means you don't really have anything, does it?" She tipped her head, but his eyes acknowledged nothing. "We've got _enough_ irrational hatred to deal with- don't foist more on me." 

* * *

_Dear Mr. Potter,  
Your expertise comes highly recommended..._

Harry sighed and didn't bother to read on. Gently, he dipped his quill in some ink and penned: _Dear sir- thank you for your interest, but I am on assignment starting next week, and will not be available for several months; yours, h. potter_

He attached the response to Hedwig's leg and sighed. "They always find me, don't they, Hed?"

He might as well go say goodbye to Molly and Arthur. He'd skip a goodbye to Ron, as Hermione had warned him that he was out for blood. "He found out about you and Ginny," she'd said, but how Ron was going to punish him for something that was over was beyond him.

Not too long after, he stepped into the Burrow. "Mrs. Weasley?" he called.

"They're out," said a voice in the kitchen.

Harry knew full well whom the voice belonged to; but thirty seconds passed, and no there was no accompanying remark.

He walked into the kitchen, and Ginny sat at the table. Her hands were folded and her eyes were red. She didn't _appear_ bruised, thank god...

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said unconvincingly. She blew her nose.

"Where's Malfoy?"

"We had a fight."

"Over...?"

"You, oddly enough," she said, "though not for the reason you might think. He's convinced you tried to kill me today- and won't tell me why."

_He knows,_ he thought. _Oh, shit, he knows._

Something must have reflected on his face, because her eyes widened.

"That night you came back- you'd just finished with an assignment- you _told_ me that."

"Ginny, let it be, okay?"

She pushed on. "That was the night Lucius Malfoy was killed."

"Gin, it's not-"

"You killed him, didn't you?"

Her deep brown eyes, trimmed in red, cut straight through him.

He hung his head and sighed. "Yeah. I did."

* * *

[A/N: Will Ginny go back to Draco? Will Draco confront Harry, Inigo Montoya style? And who was behind the bonfire incident? Answers to these questions plus another murder attempt, an interesting discovery for Ginny, not to mention an advice conference with Tim and Percy- all in part 8 of TYBR! (which should come out in less than two weeks, or you may hound me to my grave!) if you'd like to get an email when the next chapter is out, join my nf list- http://theburrow.net/nf.html ] 


	8. part eight

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part 8  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13  
[A/N: Standard thanks to Sky, Gypsy, Amalin, Christy; Cara, Mickey, Jess; the SM and the Hoyden; brain farm friends; everyone who reviews because it is my food! I love you! *giant hug* Also, Raku, I *always* need reviews ;) biggest inspiration was that mena began translating TYBR into Finnish-- with the coolest title - Sateenvarjokapina! Which is kind of like Umbrellerebellion. But cool!] 

* * *

Draco stared at the walls of his study, eyes fixed on the bindings of the books and the patterns of dust. Papers in front of him were busily alphabetizing themselves, lifting and resorting themselves (in an inefficient bubblesort spell- but what did he care how fast it got done). 

She left him, he thought, over and over, but his mind was somehow numb and he couldn't quite believe it. How could she leave him? He'd wooed her and won. She'd _married_ him, therefore she was his- QED. _Q E _fucking_ D_, he thought savagely, but now matter how he thought it, she had still left him.

And probably she'd gone back to Potter- probably in his arms now, with Potter nibbling on her ears and Potter's hands tracing her backside and Potter hearing those sweet moans...

"Draco, I'm sorry."

His head snapped up.

She was there, standing in the doorway. Her eyes were large... dark. Sincere? He didn't know.

"I should have trusted you." She spoke the words brokenly as she slid across the floor. She stopped in front of the desk and leaned over.

"You should have," he agreed, even though somewhere in his mind a voice was screaming _Malfoys don't believe in trust_ but he didn't care, he was yanking her across the table and smothering her with kisses.

"I've got knees, you know."

As she said that, he noticed she was bent in a rather uncomfortable fashion, so he rearranged her into a sitting position on his tabletop. Then he continued his business- peeling off her robes and her shirt and trying not to slow her down as she did the same to him. "You're mine," he growled, pushing her back onto the desk.

"I believe everyone belongs to themself," she said breathlessly. "That way-"

He put his hand over her mouth. "Sex now. Feminist bullshit later." He gave her a long look. "If ever."

"Deal," she murmured, and she surrendered to him- _she was here, she was his,_ and everything was alright.

* * *

Ginny lay in bed next to him, arms draped around each other. He looked so peaceful, so innocent. His hair fell across his forehead, and her hand came up to tuck it back in place. 

It was four o'clock in the morning.

If by some spell she could make it four a.m. forever, her problems would be solved.

He didn't love her.

Didn't love her, _couldn't_ love her. Malfoys didn't believe in love, he'd said time and again, although sometimes it was unclear whether it was for his or her benefit. In the wee hours of the morning, in that hazy not-quite-sleep, she could pretend their passion was love. Passion they had, and it would have to be enough.

It had been three weeks since their brief fight. She'd apologized, he'd accepted, they'd had sex on the desk, under the desk, near the desk... And then things established themselves into a pattern. Ginny wrote during the day, Draco served at the Ministry and attended councils and whatever the hell else he did. At night, they were together- sometimes fierce and nearly violent, sometimes slow and lingering. Always gentle embracing afterwards, with sweet whisperings of "You're mine."

For someone who didn't believe in love, he was awfully possessive.

His arms closed around her tighter, and his warmth felt so good... but she lightly pushed him away. She slipped out of bed and went to sit on the window seat.

Clouds obscured the stars tonight; the sky was pitch dark and oppressive. He didn't love her, couldn't love her, would never love her.

_"Ginny, I love you," Harry said, looking helpless. _Not helpless, not helpless-- he _killed_ a man...__

"Wouldn't Azkaban have been enough?" The words came out of her mouth, barely above a whisper.

"They wouldn't have convicted him. You know that."

"If you got enough evidence_--"_

He groaned, pushed a chair. "Why are you defending Lucius Malfoy, of all people? He tried to kill you._ Or have you forgotten?"_

"I know he tried to kill me. But does that make it right for him to die?"

"Gin..."

"I've got to go, Harry... I've just.."

Ginny pulled her knees to her chest and felt her cheeks grow wet. She didn't consciously recognize the source as anthropogenic, even when licking the saline off her lips.

She was pregnant.

What was she supposed to do?

"Come back to bed, Virginia."

She blinked several times and saw Draco's form, sitting upright and folding his arms.

"Gin, this is bed," he said, patting a spot next to him. "Bed, this is Ginny. Now that you two know each other, why don't you come over here?"

When she still didn't respond, he rose and picked her up. He carried her back to the bed and tucked himself in beside her.

She didn't even protest at being treated like a sack of feed.

"Feminist bullshit would be okay now," he said softly.

The tears burned her cheeks- she'd tried to stop but now they were falling faster than she could catch.

She felt his thumb brush below each of her eyes and his lips press against her forehead. "Malfoys don't cry," he said, almost tenderly. Then he slid his arms around her and drew her closer.

And she fell asleep.

* * *

Draco dreamt that he hadn't married Ginny.

In fact, throughout the entire dream, he wasn't really sure _who_ he had married, only that he went to her bed three times a week without much enthusiasm. They slept in separate bedrooms, and his life was business and it was successful, and everything was running according to the age-old Malfoy plan.

He had doubled the family fortune. He had everyone- magic and Muggle alike- in Britain afraid of him, and even most of Ireland and France. In a short period of time, he would have a nice empire, which could expand to include all of Europe. Success, success, success, he repeated in his head, like a giant snake hissing in delight.

He slept alone in a cold bed.

_Success, success, successssssss...._

He had everything he had ever wanted. Except it wasn't enough-- he wanted more, needed more. So he made more money and bullied more people, and that worked for a while. But it wore off, and so more money, more power...

And although everything should have been perfect, at the end of the dream, he sat by the toilet with a knife poised over his wrist.

* * *

Ginny leaned over the banister and sighed.

Malfoy Manor was much different than Darthaegan. Larger, colder. More house elves, less squib servants. Darthaegan still felt like a home; Malfoy Manor felt like a museum.

Or a mausoleum.

"Even the ghosts hate me," she murmured.

_I shouldn't feel so oppressed,_ she thought. _Something has to change, or I'll be miserable. Rather, more miserable than I already am... Why can't we just go back to Darthaegan?_

The quiet fueled the loneliness and impersonality and sterility of the place. No friendly spells, homey clutter. Just silent as a tomb.

But startling-- and _very_ alarming-- was the breaking of that silence.

"_Corpuswasi_," she heard, and she thought some very unprintable words.

It was a terrifying sensation-- her body seized by some force, with this rushing sound ripping through her brain... and being hurled over the staircase. The floor approached faster and faster, the hideous carpet swirling and becoming more grotesque. She fumbled for her wand, but she couldn't quite get it out of her pocket and **thank god**-- and she _had_ it! She had it! _Flick and swish, flick and swish_ except when she flicked, it _fell_ from her grasp, and surely she would break her neck now--

_I won't complain anymore,_ she vowed desperately to God, shutting her eyes tight.

"_Wingardium leviosa._" It was so calm, disinterested. Ginny's eyes flew open. She hovered maybe six feet above the floor, and in front of her stood...

Her mother-in-law?

"You saved me," Ginny said, astounded.

"Don't take it personally," Narcissa said, placing her wand in her dress. "Blood stains terribly, is all."

Ginny threw a panicked glance to the top of the staircase. "Did you... see anyone?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Someone pushed me over the railing."

"Oh," said Narcissa. "I thought you were just clumsy. Or suicidal. Or both."

Frost grew on her reply. "Thankfully neither."

"_Finite incantatum_."

Ginny plopped inelegantly on the floor, and her breath rushed out of her.

"Clumsy," the Lady Malfoy repeated disdainfully. "And certainly not worthy of this family."

That was pebble that sunk the boat.

"Maybe this _family_," Ginny snapped, "isn't worthy of _me_."

And so she left.

* * *

"Your sister's here," Tim said idly, sipping his tea.

Percy set his report down on his lap and pushed up his glasses. "Did the bell ring?"

"No. But it should soon."

"Ah," said Percy. "Perhaps I ought to put another pot of tea on."

"Already did."

Percy gave him an admiring glance. Tim _was_ rather efficient.

The doorbell rang.

"Come in," Percy said. "The door's unlocked."

Ginny entered, crying, carrying a yellow umbrella, and looking a mess. Her makeup had redistributed itself in a rather unflattering fashion. She was perfectly dry otherwise. This was testament either to a fantastically effective umbrella or that it wasn't raining at all, and she was just distraught (and getting kind of weird). And truly, either scenario would be something he should like to know. So he cleared his throat and asked:

"Is it raining?"

"No, but it _might_!" A fresh flood of tears burst out.

She was just getting weird.

Of course, she _had_ been married to Malfoy for three or four weeks, so maybe it was getting to her.

"Oh, muffin," said Tim, rising from his chair and wrapping an arm around her shoulder, "let me get you some tea, and you can tell me all about it."

All about what?

"I don't know what to _do_," she wailed.

"Tea makes everything better," he assured her, and led her into the kitchen.

Percy looked down at the statistics of the report, then up at the kitchen and his sobbing sister, back down at the numbers... and sighed. There was no way he would get anything done tonight. He joined Tim and Ginny in the kitchen in the midst of a conversation.

"--like I'm submerged in this pool of hatred and apathy, and it's eating away at my skin. The only time I feel okay is when we're together or when I'm not there. And I just-- just..." A sudden surge of tears drowned out the rest. She took Tim's proffered handkerchief and blew her nose vigorously. "I'm sorry, I never cry this much. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"I do," Tim said. "Hormones."

She inhaled sharply, then nodded. "Yeah. Well, I'm pregnant. That's part of the problem."

"Close your mouth, Percy," Tim said. "It's unsightly."

Percy flushed. "You're pregnant?"

"I haven't told him," she said. "I don't know why..."

"She's pregnant," Percy said to Tim.

"Yes, Percy, I heard her," he replied patiently, then turned back to Ginny. "If you're really not happy, tell him you're going back to Darthaegan. Say the hostile environment isn't good for the baby or something."

"Stress isn't healthy," Percy offered.

"So says the workaholic. But it's a legitimate excuse."

"I think... I think that might be the best way to go," she said. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

She embraced them both before leaving. 

* * *

"I'm back," Ginny said, throwing down a few belongings inside their bedroom door.

Not "I'm home." "I'm back."

"Where've you been?" He measured out the words. She'd left, and none of his staff had been capable of giving him an explanation.

She'd left him before. He didn't want her to leave for good.

He kept on getting this vibe from her, this vibe that she had a strong urge to bolt. And it got stronger every time he sensed it. And he was... worried?

"Percy's. If you'll excuse me, I've got to use the bathroom," she said.

He nodded, and she disappeared behind the bathroom door. He couldn't look at that door... could only see that apparition of himself sitting with the blade on the floor. He shifted his gaze.

The umbrella, the one that started everything, lay by the door. Next to it was some sort of book. A photo album, it appeared.

He picked it up and began to leaf through the pages. Pictures of Weasleys, Weasleys, more Weasleys. They looked so _happy_ in that idiotic way. There were so many people in all of the pictures- how on earth did she have enough _air_ growing up?

_Maybe you had too _ much_ air._

He paused, fingering a picture of her and Potter. Both smiling. Him wearing a truly hideous sweater with an "H" on it.

God, how he hated him.

They were touching. In fact, in every photograph, she was being hugged or held or sidled up to someone, and not just her-- everyone was like that. Like part of their familial bonds were physical.

He looked at the room. Stark, empty, cold.

_I'm drowning her with all this space. She's going to leave, going to leave me... _

All he could see was her, crying and folded up at four in the morning.

She wandered out of the bathroom and folded her hands. "I, uh, have something to say."

_"Draco, I'm leaving."_

"Draco, I'm still in love with Harry."

"Draco, I'm dying."

"Can I say something first?" he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Alright."

_Don't leave, don't leave..._ "I think... I think we should move someplace nearer to London. Something smaller. Still use the Manor for holidays and parties and such, but use the new place as the primary residence."

She hugged him so fiercely, so unexpectedly, that he wasn't sure what to do. "Yes, yes, _thank you so much._" She peppered kisses on his cheeks and chin and neck. When her ardor seemed to have cooled (though her arms remained twined around his neck), she said, "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the news."

He didn't want to hear it-- she couldn't-- he wouldn't listen, that was it---

"Draco, I'm pregnant."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Pregnant," she repeated, smiling absurdly. "That heir thing."

She wouldn't leave now, she couldn't. She was his. Forever.

_Do Malfoys believe in forever?_

He wasn't sure.

* * *

[So it wasn't Harry, and it wasn't Narcissa. Who is trying to kill Ginny? (Hint: It's not who you might think!) Will either Draco or Ginny admit their love? Will Ginny stop being such a crybaby? Answers plus the real Draco/Harry confrontation, the buying of the house, and the hopeful wrapping up of loose ends-- part 9 of TYBR (and maybe final!) to get an email when it comes out, join my nflist: http://theburrow.net/nf.html ] 


	9. part nine

The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part **9**  
Rhi Marzano  
PG-13  
[A/N: damn. Welcome to my longest fic ever. This part is kind of serious and not fun, but that's the way it goes sometimes. Thank-yous to everyone who has reviewed! special thank-yous to sky & AII for the advance read.]

* * *

Draco sat on the bathroom floor next to the toilet.

The tile was cool beneath his body, intricate and beautiful. A pattern near the sink was a gorgeous mosaic of the family crest.

It was all his. The money, the power. The land. There was nothing more to want; nothing more to dream. He had his inheritance and everything should be fine.

On some level Draco knew he was dreaming; he'd been here before, thousands upon thousands of times. Sitting on this precise spot. And he knew that if he reached around behind the toilet, he would find a knife.

On that same level, he knew he shouldn't be having this dream. He'd fled Malfoy Manor with his wife; they lived in a townhouse, which was still bigger than her childhood home. He knew he was asleep in her arms.

But on a different level, the dominant level, Draco retrieved the knife and positioned it over his wrist. What if... what if he ended it. Right here, right now.

_Why am I dreaming this?_ that other level screamed.

"Because you're still not listening."

He dropped the knife and whipped his head towards the bathroom door. A man dressed in white leaned against the wall.

_What the hell_, he thought. _Who let him through?_ People didn't just "show up" at Malfoy Manor. Especially people he didn't know. He did have good security- could have sent a small, charmed beetle at that very second to Howard or one of the guards. But he didn't. He didn't move, didn't speak. He simply stared.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here. I'm always here, I always have been. I've tried to talk to you before, and your father before you, and his father before him. But you've all made the mistake of not listening."

_This isn't how the dream goes,_ said the other self.

"I'm here because you have a dilemma. Everything you've been brought up with screams for you to attribute your newfound contentment to your patrimony. And please don't feed me the line of not believing in happiness. Malfoys _used_ to believe. In love and happiness and forgiveness. In the well being of man. 

"But somewhere along the line, power seduced you into a different life. And so it went, each generation having a little more of their humanity eaten away. Your family has made the same mistakes over and over again--but you have a chance to clean the house." The man turned his gaze to the crest on the floor. "You might be different, just might be. But if you repeat those mistakes, I can assure you that you, your wife, and your child will all be dead."

_Who's trying to kill Ginny?_

"You broke free of the skein. Surely you didn't think those who'd been weaving would allow that so easily?"

_Tell me what to do,_ said the other level.

"Tell me what to do," Draco said to the man.

The man bent down and took the knife from him. "Everything's tainted, Draco. Clean it up."

* * *

"**Draco**."

His eyes snapped open. Ginny was poised above him, her arms on his shoulders. "You were dreaming," she said softly. "Thrashing round and such. Was it that bad?"

"I'm okay," he lied.

She yawned and rolled off him and onto her side. "Then let's go back to sleep."

She was so beautiful, the way the moonlight struck her pale skin. His fingers trailed through her hair, stroking lightly until her breathing became slow and regular. Only then did he relax his shoulders and let himself drift off as well.

He wasn't particularly disturbed when he awoke at ten to find the bed empty. He dressed on his own; checked the kitchen, but found only an empty teacup; looked at the table for a note but found none. She'd gotten good about leaving notes, so he concluded she remained in residence somewhere.

It didn't take that long to find her--their new place was remarkably smaller than Malfoy Manor.

She was in a spare bedroom, painting the room a soft blue.

Draco stood in the doorway and watched her. She was like a pixie, glowing and energetic. He would have excluded the rabidly bearing teeth and tendency to destroy things from the pixie-like qualities, but then he recalled how she'd been yesterday without her morning tea.

"Gin," he said softly.

She stopped humming and cocked her head at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Decorating the nursery." Careless, cheerful, she set down her paintbrush in a little pan. "Could you do me a favor and run by my old flat? There's a little dresser that would look nice in here. And a cedar chest."

"Are you sending me on an errand? Malfoys don't do err--"

"A favor," she repeated, smiling and somehow making her eyes even bigger.

He sighed and kissed her paint-splattered face. "Alright."

"Take an umbrella," she said. "It might rain."

* * *

He knew what he had to do to make the dream go away. And he'd decided that he was going to do it. Once he'd gotten his thoughts organized, he went to his right-hand man. He found Howard at Malfoy Manor-- which was a good thing, because that's where he was supposed to be. He'd left Howard in charge of managing the manor. The house looked good and his study was undisturbed. Howard closed the door behind him and listened to Draco's plans, occasionally saying "hmm."

"You can't do this," Howard said when he'd finished.

_Can't_ was a dangerous word for him. "Why not?"

"Because this is how Malfoys have made their money for _centuries_. You can't just eliminate that on a whim."

"I can do whatever I want," Draco snapped. "And last time I checked, Malfoys are supposed to use their cunning and their money and their power to amass more money and power, and if this is the way my cunning drives me, that's the way I'm going to do it."

"But you've given your word..."

"I've changed my mind--because I can." Draco handed him a sealed envelope. "Either learn to be a stockbroker, or I find someone else."

Howard tucked the envelope under his arm, tacit agreement. "You're going to make quite a lot of people angry."

"That is part of the fun," Draco replied, and set out for Ginny's old flat. 

* * *

He entered the flat, set down the umbrella, and began to look around for the furniture. A shrinking spell would be the way to go, then he could slip them into his pockets and return home.

Home. Odd, they'd only lived in that townhouse two weeks, and here he was calling it home. _Best not dwell on it._

A jacket lay on the floor next to the couch.

This shouldn't have been amazing; Ginny was innately messy. What was disturbing was that it was a jacket distinctly male.

Draco stepped towards the couch--one foot, then the other, repeating until he was right there. He took a deep breath and peered down over the side.

Potter's green eyes stared back. "Hullo, Malfoy."

He wanted to punch him, but instead smiled over clenched teeth. "Haven't seen you 'round in a while. Ministry pimping you out again?"

"I'm on assignment, yes."

"Since you did so well on your last one. Tell me, Potter--how hard _was_ it to kill my father?"

He didn't answer, just gave a slow blink.

"Who're they sending you after now? My wife? I mean, considering she's been nearly killed twice now and you're skulking around her old apartment."

"I'm hardly skulking," Potter snapped. "And the Ministry has no reason for Ginny to be killed. You, on the other hand. Dark arts object trading and being the Death Eater leader- they want your ass for that."

"Ah, but you won't find any evidence," he said.

"Don't I know it." Potter rolled up into sitting position and crossed his arms. "I've been researching for weeks, and not one scrap of anything to prove you're actually involved in the black trade. But as for being a Death Eater, I think I can get conclusive about that."

"Let me save you the trouble." Draco rolled up his sleeves and held out his arms. "I've no intention of being one of Voldemort's toadies. I've stopped illegal trading--would you like to hear the angry grumblings of my butler? As for actually practicing the Dark Arts, which I note you didn't even bring up, I can tell you I've done quite a lot less than you have."

Potter looked almost crushed.

"You're... you're not a Death Eater?"

"No," he replied firmly. "My priorities are my own."

He ignored Potter's bewildered gaze and collected the chest and dresser. Both were in Ginny's old bedroom, and he promptly shrunk them to the size of a galleon. He was nearly out the door when Potter finally said something else.

"Do you love her?"

Draco had not been expecting love for his marriage.

Malfoys didn't believe in love. _Mal foi_- bad faith, and wasn't that the truth. As far as they were concerned, if it couldn't be achieved somehow with money, it didn't exist. Love was for fools--intangible nonsense for those without money, or without enough sense to be satisfied.

Draco had heard that speech so many times in his life, and it was dogma. It was something he lived his life by, and marriage would not be able to change that.

But things crept up. Jealousy and monogamy and possession and infinity and maybe he _had_ lost his mind, because he suddenly knew what all those lovesick fools were talking about.

Draco picked up the umbrella he'd carelessly dropped on the floor, and looked back at him. "Yeah," he replied, "I do."

"So do I," Potter said. "So you have to know I don't want her hurt."

"Well, clearly, someone _does_," Draco retorted.

"Then instead of fixating on her ex's, how about thinking about yours?"

Draco sent a glare at him, then actually thought about it.

"Oh, God--**_Pansy_**."

* * *

Ginny finished painting the nursery in the afternoon. Upon brief reflection, she was pleased with how it had turned out. She was feeling relieved overall; the townhouse was really a comfortable size. It was also theirs, free and clear, so she could paint and wallpaper and do whatever she liked.

_I think we should get a dog,_ she thought. A dog would be nice. Something for the kid to play with until brothers or sisters came along.

She heard the front door swing open.

"Draco," she called down the stairs. "Do you think we could get a dog?"

She waited a few beats, but the silence did not sound promising. She sighed, wiped her hands on her shirt, and went downstairs to offer a more convincing argument.

"A dog. A puppy. Something cute and cuddly. Wouldn't that just liven things up?" she offered.

No answer.

"Draco?" she said louder. Where was he?

She went into the living room, and found a woman sitting on her couch, legs crossed.

"_Parkinson_?" Ginny said in disbelief.

* * *

He'd left her alone--how dumb could he have been? If something happened to her--

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Ginny balanced herself against a shelf. Her knees shook something fierce, and it took a lot of energy to sound calm.

"Why do you think?" the other woman said irritably. "I had plans--twenty years of unspoken agreement, and you stuck your impoverished freckled nose in and screwed everything up."

"I assure you that wasn't my intention," Ginny replied weakly.

"Intention or not, _you_ are standing in the way. It would have been easy enough to organize some sort of scandal to make him divorce you--but then you had to get pregnant, didn't you? Now you've just _forced_ me to get rid of you permanently."

_She's a complete nutter,_ Ginny thought. And this did not bode well.

* * *

Apparating quickly was never a good idea--clear presence of mind was necessary so that you didn't accidentally splice yourself. But Draco didn't have time to be rational.

* * *

"Maybe it just wasn't meant to be," Ginny said, inching towards the table where the wand lay. "Maybe fate had something different in store."

"Fate doesn't exist," Parkinson spat, snatching her wand and clutching it.

Well. What was she going to do now?

* * *

_I can't believe Pansy could be capable of something like this,_ Draco thought. He'd made it only a block from the townhouse, which was a miracle considering his brain was going to explode from the tension. _I knew she was slightly unstable--and catty--but homicidal? I just..._

* * *

Her tactic became just to keep her talking. Thankfully this was easy to do. The way Parkinson was ranting, Ginny was surprised she wasn't frothing at the mouth.

It wouldn't work forever, but she hoped it would last until she thought of something else.

* * *

Draco burst through the front door of the townhouse and raced up the stairs to the main floor. "_Ginny!_" he yelled.

"_Draco!_" It sounded fraught with relief.

Living room, living room--she had to be there. He ran in and whipped out his wand. "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Then he took a deep breath. And another. And then he looked at the assailant.

"_Mrs._ Parkinson?"

Ginny flung herself into his arms and began to cry. "I'm _so_ glad you're here."

* * *

"So let me get this straight. Your husband's ex-girlfriend's mother was trying to kill you."

Ginny rubbed her forehead as if that would clarify what Percy had just said. It didn't really help at all, but it looked cool, she supposed. "Pretty much, yeah."

"And you're okay with this?" Tim raised his eyebrows.

"Well--she didn't succeed. So yeah."

It had been a week since Draco had apprehended Mrs. Parkinson and turned her in to the Ministry; the charges were filed quietly and settled the same. Parkinson was instructed to seek refuge in France or Russia, as she would no longer be welcome in Britain. _Thank god_ was all Ginny could think. Things were back to normal; Ginny had dragged Draco to Sunday dinner. Hopefully things would go better this time.

Percy gave her a level look. "Well. I hope, for your sake, that this has given you two a little lesson in locking the doors."

Ginny placed her hand over that of her brother's. "Don't tell Mum. It'll just worry her."

Her mother, of course, had superhuman abilities that enabled her to jump into situations when she was least wanted. Molly popped in the kitchen not two seconds later. "What will worry me?"

Ginny sighed. "Nothing, Mum."

"_What_ will worry me?" Molly repeated dangerously.

"Got an answer for that, Mr. Efficient?" Percy said under his breath.

"Of course," Tim whispered back. He cleared his throat. "Well, it's just a little troublesome that we don't have a nice vintage of wine."

Molly frowned. "Why would that be?"

"To toast Ginny's pregnancy, of course," Tim said smoothly.

"Oh," said Percy admiringly while Molly squealed. "That was good."

"When were you going to _tell_ me!" Molly exclaimed.

"Today," Ginny replied, even though she hadn't given it much thought.

"_Grandchildren_," her mother said wistfully.

_Get me out of here_, Ginny mouthed.

Tim nodded and tapped Percy on the shoulder. "As a matter of fact, Mum," said Percy, "I was thinking of adopting..."

Ginny slipped out of the kitchen to find her husband. He sat amongst the twins, looking bashful. It was really odd, how he'd become so much more at ease with her family. He had been absorbed into the laughter and the conversation, instead of being a source of discomfort for all.

George was babbling at high speeds. "--can't believe you bought all that stock for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. That was really faboo of you."

"Thanks," Draco muttered. He appeared to be trying hard not to blush.

She'd come at the right time; he _definitely_ wanted to be rescued. "Hey," Ginny said, kissing him on the hair. "Want some air?"

"Yes," he replied fervently.

They went out into the garden, holding hands. Ginny couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this way. She thought she'd loved Harry, but it was nothing in comparison to now. "Draco," she said softly, "I know you probably don't want to hear it. Rigid Malfoy rules and all that. But I wanted to tell you that I love you."

She was greatly surprised to hear him say gruffly, "I love you, too."

Maybe happily ever after might be a bit much to ask for. But they were off to a great start.

* * *

[The End. Thanks to everyone for reading along the way!] 


End file.
